

Scent of Tears

by Juan Knecht

Copyright © 2016 Juan Knecht

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This book is a work of

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fiction. Any reference to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictionally. Other names, characters, places and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, or places, or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-0-9914144-2-0

Scent of Tears

# Chapter One

On the night I met most famous bandit to ever rise up in the Alto Sierra, I was no more than fourteen... although no one in the Topo Household knew my true age, since when my mother died, all records of my birth were lost.

I'd been sleeping in perfect darkness on a pallet in the root cellar, which was kept warm as it was directly behind the kitchen. My pallet was near the wall closest to the kitchen's big iron stove and, except for the spiders that inhabited the cellar, I didn't mind sleeping there. It was a very quiet, peaceful place most nights.

On that night, sometime after midnight, Dõna Inez Topo came into the cellar with a lantern and quietly hid a thin young man under some tarps not five feet from where I lay.

When she saw me watching, she loomed over me. "Stay quiet," she said in a deadly hiss. "And keep your mouth shut."

As she walked back into the kitchen, she left the lantern sitting on the kitchen table and the door to the cellar standing open.

Shortly after the mysterious stranger's arrival, there was the sound of heavy boots on the porch followed by angry voices demanding to enter and search the house. Questions turned into accusations, until Dõna Inez's screaming tirade became so loud it drowned the men out. There was a moment's silence when she ran out of breath.

The stranger rose up on one elbow, pushing the tarp back so he could see me. "Good evening, my friend. My name is Tiburcio Vasquez." He sounded quite at ease, considering the circumstances.

"Charlie Horn," I choked out, thinking I should say more but afraid to violate Dõna Inez's admonishment to stay quiet.

The men's voices once more split the stillness of the night. From the little I could understand, the vigilantes were looking for a fugitive and Dõna Inez was denying their entrance into the hacienda. The voices were so intense that I slipped my head under my blanket for a moment. When I looked back out at the slim fugitive under the tarps, he smiled confidently at me in the weak lantern light, as if this were just a game of hide-and-go-seek. In a way it was, but with deadly consequences if the hiding didn't work out as he hoped.

After a while, the shouting and screaming abated, followed by the sound of boots moving off the porch. A few minutes later, the floorboards creaked as Inez walked up the stairs, and then the house fell silent again.

I wanted to ask what had happened but was afraid of saying anything. Finally, the young man rolled out from beneath the tarps, straightened his coat, and crept up the stairs. As he got to the top of the stairs where the lantern light was stronger, I saw dried blood covered the handle of the knife he carried in a sheath attached to his belt.

With a wave of his hand and a quiet "Buenos noches," the small, thin figure of Tiburcio Vasquez evaporated into the darkness.

I was still awake when Don Topo came home. He arrived just before the roosters of Monterey started their morning songs. He'd been away, overseeing one of his many cattle ranches. He often rode at night, feeling he had less chance of being robbed if his travels were made in darkness. Dõna Inez must have heard him as well, for she came rapidly down the stairs.

They settled in the kitchen to talk and made an effort to keep their conversation quiet, but the door standing open, so the words were clear to me. I wiggled deeper into my blankets.

"That's your entire argument?" Don Topo said in the voice he used when he was trying to keep his temper in check. "That he's from a good family? His brothers and sisters may be hard-working, respectable people, but he himself would rather socialize with a bad element. Now he's paying the price for his choice of companions. I do not see how that is our concern."

"It's not his fault if his parents are apart and he has no father to guide him," Dõna Inez said, striving to keep the edge out of her voice.

"Whether his father is around or not, you lay down with dogs, you wake up with fleas. You hang around with that son of a bitch Anastasio Garcia, you wake up with a murder charge and a warrant for your arrest, which is as it should be. Garcia is incorrigible."

"Tiburcio is a victim of Yankee prejudice and hatred. If I hadn't hidden him from that mob, he would have been hung by those Yankee scum. You would chastise me for offering this poor boy shelter? If you had been at home, which you never are, you could have dealt with this as you saw fit. But you were gone, and I gave him refuge. Don't you dare question my actions, husband. Tiburcio's friend Higuera stayed to face the crowd and was lynched. If Tiburcio hadn't come here, he would have been hung as well."

"From what I was told by the stable hand at the barn earlier this evening, Higuera didn't stay to face anything. He was so grievously wounded that he couldn't have run if he'd wanted to."

"So the Yankee trash hung a wounded boy without benefit of a trial? Even you, who make excuses for the Anglos at every turn, can't believe there is any justice for the Spaniards in Monterey?"

"Inez, Tiburcio was at the dance when that bastard Anastasio Garcia murdered another reveler with a knife. Constable Hardmont came to do the job he is paid to do, which is to keep the peace. Keep in mind that Hardmont was a popular man. He had a wife and two small children. If our family is discovered harboring a murderer, it will make it impossible for me to do business."

"You care only about business," Dõna Inez screeched. "You don't care about honor. You . . . you act more like a Yankee than a Spaniard. Shame on you!"

"Shame on me? Which would you prefer? To live like you do now, with servants and trips to the Custom House to see what new fashions have arrived from Valapariso and Boston? Or would you prefer to make your own clothes and go without the pleasure of dressing yourself and our daughters in the latest fashion. You curse the Yankees, but you seem happy enough to wear their gowns and splash on their perfume."

There was a long, awkward silence.

"I am quite curious," Don Topo said. "How often has this Tiburcio Vasquez been to this house? He must have felt quite at home if this is where he came to hide. Has he been strumming his guitar with one of our daughters?"

"Tiburcio's grandfather was the first mayor of San Jose. Back then, the true rulers of California didn't suffer drunken trash demanding unlawful entrance into their homes."

"Inez, which one of our daughter's has Tiburcio been playing his guitar for?"

Dõna Inez waited a moment before she replied. "Our daughters would never let a man become intimate with them before marriage."

"Most of the time a boy getting between a girls legs is what causes marriage."

"How do you know Tiburcio wasn't here to see me? You are never home."

Don Topo guffawed. "You are twice his width, Inez," he said, as if that should answer her question.

A kitchen utensil clattered against the wall. Dõna Inez's second throw must have found its mark, because Don Topo gave a yelp. There was the squeak of a chair moving over the floor, and Dõna Inez stormed out of the kitchen, slammed the door behind her and stomped up the stairs to her bedroom.

After a long silence, Don Topo called out to me in Spanish: "Come out from behind the door, Charlie. I'm preparing coffee. You're the only one who's willing to share it with me at this time of day."

How he knew I was lying awake was a mystery, but over the years I'd learned never to underestimate the fat little man who wasn't particularly good at anything except understanding human nature.

I certainly didn't want to be accused of eavesdropping. My position in the household was dubious at best, and I had nowhere else to go. My mother had died of pneumonia before I formed a memory of her, and my father had put out to sea three years prior and had not returned. I knew nothing of his fate, though I prayed nightly he would come back. I was a skinny half-breed boy with no parents or future.

Don Topo, a short, pudgy man with dark soulful eyes was my only benefactor. He'd been a business partner and friend of my father, and, as such, had always been the picture of kindness and consideration toward me. However, he was gone much of the time. I tried to stay invisible because I was never sure when the ferocious Dõna Inez might throw me out into the street, leaving me without food, clothing, or shelter. She threatened to do just that many times, and she seemed mean enough to act on her threat.

I didn't want to be forced from the house and made to live on the street. I liked the big adobe hacienda. It was one of the few two-story residences in Monterey, and it had a large adobe-walled courtyard that was quite enjoyable for children to play in. As with all wealthy households at the Presidio of Monterey, the grounds were adorned with pepper trees, lemon trees and olive trees.

When Don Topo was home, there was no fear his wife would evict me. I loved to get up early and drink coffee with him. On some mornings, he tried to teach me mathematics; other times he talked about cattle and horses. Don Topo's daughters made fun of me for following him around like a puppy, but I didn't care what they thought. Without his guidance and love, I would have drowned in neglect, the same way I feared by father had drowned in a bottomless ocean.

I took the greatest pleasure in our early morning coffee, and this morning, despite the marital discord, was no different. I sat in silence, watching Don Topo sip his coffee while he thought things out, and then looked darkly at my coffee cup, trying to imitate him. I wondered what Don Topo's agitated reference to Tiburcio's playing a guitar for one of his daughters had meant.

Had I understood what the repercussions of Tiburcio Vasquez playing his instrument for one of the Topo daughters would mean for me, I would have ducked back in the cellar, buried my head under my blankets, and never come out.

Scent of Tears

# Chapter Two

Tiburcio Vasquez disappeared from my life like a rattlesnake going down a squirrel hole. He was gone for now, but his presence was not forgotten.

That summer I was sent by Don Topo to work on one of his many holdings. At this ranch, I found myself at odds with the majordomo, a contemptible Spaniard named Don Tomasino. For Don Tomasino hated Yankees, and although my mother was Spanish, I looked white.

One morning, he intentionally handled a horse in a manner that would likely result in injury, and my hatred for him boiled over. He was mounted on a fine brown gelding that he rode in a silver inlaid spade-bit, and the mare about to get her neck broken was one I'd been trying to gentle. At night, I'd been sneaking out into the pasture where she was kept, where I'd sit on the ground with small offerings of grain. It might take hours, but the young horse's curiosity would eventually get the better of her. She would come to me, extending her nose to sniff at the grain. After many nights' effort, I could now walk up to her out in the open without her running away.

And what a beautiful animal she was, with a perfect white triangle on her forehead one snip of white on her nose, and a thick mane and long tail that flowed in the wind as elegantly as a poem. She also had great speed and wonderful control of her feet. I ached to become a full-fledged vaquero and ride her over the hills and valleys to catch wild cattle.

Don Tomasino had just missed his first attempt to rope her by her front feet. It was hard for me to believe he was going to forefoot the filly and risk breaking her neck when he could simply sort her off the other horses and let her out of the pen without damaging her. He shook out another loop from the sixty foot rawhide raita he carried, preparing to trip the mare with his lariat. The rage rose in my throat like vomit and it became hard to breath.

My anger had been building for a long time. When I went with the crew to work cattle, Tomasino had made me ride a donkey—and not a good donkey either, but a stubborn and dangerous animal who kicked my feet out of the wooden stirrups and ran me under oak limbs to scrape me off his back. The donkey was ungovernable in all ways, even going so far as trying to bite me when I bridled him, and he caused me to be the butt of many jokes among the crew. Don Topo had intended me to be apprenticed as a vaquero, not the vaquero camp idiot, but when I complained about not being allowed to ride a horse, Tomasino told me that I was too clumsy to ride a finished bridle horse and too inexperienced to ride a colt, and so if I didn't like the burro I should feel free to walk.

But perhaps the greatest insult was that Don Tomasino stole from me. Don Topo had instructed him to pay me half the wages the grown vaqueros received, but I'd never seen so much as a peso. My wages ended up in the pocket of Don Tomasino.

An Indian by the name of Genero was working at the ranch, and when he saw how Tomasino was abusing me, he took the time to befriend me. He was a fine vaquero who could gather more wild cattle by himself than most other men working together. Because Genero had nearly magical powers to get wild cattle out of the brushy canyons, Tomasino left him alone and limited his abusive behavior towards me to the times Genero wasn't around.

Genero had also helped me gentle the mare. He'd seen me walking to the headquarters one morning after I'd fallen asleep in the field where the mare was kept, and asked me what I was doing. I told him my plan, and so that Sunday, when Tomasino went to Monterey, Genero took a saddle horse down to the mare. He skillfully roped her and hazed her down to the middle of a creek. Horses are disorientated in water and have a harder time bucking, so after getting thrown off twice into the creek, I finally got her to accept my being on her back. By the time Tomasino got back from Monterey, I could saddle, climb aboard, and ride her in the corral. Tomasino merely sneered at my accomplishment, as if a fourteen-year-old boy taming a wild horse was beneath his notice.

Now I watched as the filly turned to face Tomasino in the dusty corral. Tomasino whirled his loop backhand, letting the tip of the rope hit the filly in the soft part of her nose.

When I saw his riata strike her in the nostril, my hatred became a blackness that was more than I could control. I raced for the corrals, leapt over the top rail of the fence post and launched myself at Tomasino, unsheathing a small knife my dead father had given me in mid-air. I fully intended to stab Tomasino, but, like many last-minute plans, things didn't work out quite like I'd hoped. When Tomasino's gelding saw me flying off the fence, he moved sideways, so instead of landing on Tomasino like I intended, I landed face down in a pile of cow manure with the breath knocked out of me.

By the time I regained my feet, Don Tomasino had stepped off his horse and reversed his quirt. In one fluid motion, he clubbed me in the temple with the lead handle , knocking me unconscious.

I woke up lying on a cot in the bunkhouse. Genero, my Indian mentor, was wiping my face with a wet rag.

"You have courage, Charlie. When you get older you may wish you had brains too."

"What will happen now?" I asked, for there was no law to speak of in Monterey during that period.

"Tomasino knows that what he was doing with the filly was wrong. He's not paid by Don Topo to kill ranch livestock. Besides, a pendejo like Tomasino respects someone who stands up to him."

Genero paused and smiled at me.

"My knife," I said in alarm.

"I don't think Tomasino will give you the knife back."

"He has to give me the knife back. It was a gift from my father."

"You might have thought about that before you tried to stab him with it."

Genero was no doubt correct about that.

The old Indian shrugged. Genero was a half-breed like me, but instead of being Spanish and Angelo, he was Spanish and Indian. He didn't know how old he was either, having never learned to count, though he knew his mother was raped by a Spanish Soldier around 1810. He'd lived with his tribe until one of the many diseases the Europeans brought to California wiped them from the face of the earth. He thought his Spanish blood had made him less susceptible to the illness, and hence his philosophy of never knowing for sure if something was bad or good. After his tribe was killed off by disease, he'd gone to the Mission to live. Then, when the Missions were secularized, he went to work on for Don Topo.

"Do you think I'll get run off?" I asked, gently touching the place above my eye where I'd been clubbed by the quirt.

"Tomasino works for Don Topo," Genero said. "Everyone knows that Don Topo thinks of you as a son. After Tomasino knocked you out, he turned the mare back in the field with the other horses without roping her. That has to be good, no?"

"I'm happy he didn't break her neck," I replied.

In the end, Don Tomasino never anything about my trying to stab him; the blow to my skull with the leaded quirt had evidently satisfied his honor. The next day I was sweeping out the bunk house when my greatest wish came true, for I heard a wagon coming along the road and ran out to see my benefactor approaching.

I ran out to greet Don Topo, and was stopped in my tracks. Don Topo's favorite daughter, Lucinda sat next to him in the wagon. The beauty of the tall, proud fifteen-year-old rendered me speechless, but she neither greeted me nor looked in my direction. When I'd lived in the house in Monterey, she'd acted as if I wasn't there, so I wasn't surprised she was also shunning me at the vaquero camp. Despite her rudeness, I couldn't divert my gaze. She sat ramrod straight, her long black hair flowing down her back and arms crossed over her high-set breasts. She looked neither left nor right.

Lucinda's two older sisters stepped carefully around her, but her younger sister and I looked upon her with absolute terror. The sisters claimed that when Lucinda became angry, the color of her eyes darkened, but I couldn't say, for when Lucinda lost her temper I was usually too busy finding the door to study her eyes. The only one who wasn't outwardly afraid of her was her mother, Dõna Inez, though when they were in the same room, you could smell friction, like rocks grinding together in a mill stamp. Don Topo never acknowledged anything but the good in Lucinda. She would smile shyly, speak to him sweetly and get whatever it was she wanted. This did not endear her to her sisters or her mother.

"Charlie," said,"how come you have a broom in your hand? And your eyes are blackened. Have you been injured in some way?"

"I have a broom because Don Tomasino has not allowed me to ride any horses," I said, "And I have been given no saddle, only a worn out blanket that I am expected to cinch on with ropes. All he allows me to ride is a worthless and dangerous burro."

"Cheer up, my son. I brought you a saddle," he said and nodded toward the back of the buggy.

Inside was a plain saddle of the old mission style. It had seen some use, but no matter the condition, I was dumbstruck with gratitude. Tied onto the saddle was a rain slicker and a worn rawhide raita. I pulled them from the back of the wagon and ran my hands over these precious gifts. My voice failed me. In this country, you were not a man if you had no saddle. If Lucinda hadn't been there to stiffen my pride, I might have fallen to my knees in gratitude.

"I must have some men represent me at a neighboring ranch," Don Topo said, "to bring home any wandering cattle belonging to me. I am going to request that you and Genero be sent to perform those duties."

I smiled. Don Topo made all of his orders sound like requests. Those around him knew that however quietly it was said, a request had to be obeyed immediately with no questions asked, assuming the vaquero wanted to keep drawing a wage.

Topo invited me up into the wagon to go along for a tour of the ranch and observe any cattle that could be seen. I awkwardly climbed in the seat next to Lucinda.

Don Topo drove into the country, asking me about the availability of water and where the salt was being put out. Lucinda was very careful to sit erect and not bring any part of her body into contact with mine. I felt a shy smile spread across my face.

She ignored my smile. Even sitting close enough to smell her hair, I remained invisible to her.

At one point the wagon lurched and I bumped into her. Lucinda sharply jabbed me in the ribs and scooted closer to her father. Don Topo frowned at Lucinda and said something to her in Spanish under his breath, which, as far I could tell, meant he thought she looked like a woman but acted like a child.

"I am not a little girl," Lucinda said and glared at her father.

"Only an immature child would be rude for no purpose. A true Spaniard treats all persons with kindness and respect," Topo replied.

"He is no person. He is an orphan who is here to feed the chickens and fetch the firewood."

"You are giving me a headache, Lucinda. I only brought you because your mother threatened to sail back to Spain if I didn't."

"Well, she really needs to get out of the house more," Lucinda said under her breath. Then, to my amazement, she glanced in my direction and gave me a quick smile.

For a moment my soul was bathed in the light of her crystal-blue eyes.

"What?" Don Topo snapped.

In response, she just leaned her head against her father's shoulder and nothing more was said.

After a while, her proud nose went back into the air. I tried not to look at her, but then the wagon wheel ran over a rock and she was thrown against me. The warmth of her thigh penetrated the fabric of my thin pants. Being in close proximity to Lucinda gave me the feeling that I might lose consciousness and tumble from my seat.

To my embarrassment, I began to respond to her leg touching mine in a very definite way. I leaned forward with my arms resting on my knees and reverently prayed she wouldn't notice my aroused state.

She didn't notice, or if she did, she couldn't figure out a way to make fun of me about it in front of her father.

When our tour of the ranch finally concluded, Don Topo and his haughty daughter headed back to Monterey. It was an awful feeling, watching them leave. Despite my fear of Dõna Inez and my confusion about Lucinda, they were my family and I wanted to be in the wagon with them, headed back to Monterey. I figured I was too old to cry but it was a near thing.

The next morning however, my funk abated. Genero and I rode out of the headquarters on two gentle horses while leading four others. My mare was one of those four. Genero had once seen the camels used by the army and was fascinated by their appearance. In the gentle teasing manner vaqueros used on each other, he took to calling my mare the Camel because of her long, arching neck and big eyes. I told him a long neck was needed if the mare was going to be a true bridle horse. Besides, I had another name for her.

The moon had often lit up the pasture during those summer nights when I coaxed her to eat grain from my hand, and sometimes her large, curious eyes had reflected the moonlight. To celebrate those quiet nights, I called the mare Piquęna Luna, or Little Moon.

As we trotted along the dusty trail, I couldn't help but look back and grin at the mare trotting along behind. My mind raced with anticipation. I was going to become a real vaquero.

Scent of Tears

# Chapter Three

I spent a year in the Pacific Coast Mountains with Genero, learning about handling horses and catching renegade cattle. It was perhaps the best year of my life. I have read about people who hunt boars with a lance and who hunt mountain lions with dogs, but to me the greatest sport in the world is roping wild cattle in the brush. It is an art, a skill and a calling.

However, like all good things, my summer of catching wild cattle came to an end, and I was ordered to return to Monterey. Don Topo had a business selling fuel to the sailing ships moored in the bay, and so he put me to work for him by sending me out with a cart and an axe to cut firewood.

Living in the Topo Hacienda in Monterey wasn't all bad. High cattle prices had allowed Don Topo's supper table to rise to magnificence, and despite his wife's objections, Don Topo insisted that I eat with the family. After I returned with my cart piled high with firewood in the evenings, I would sit down to a meal that boasted tea from China, steaks from the rancho and fresh vegetables from the garden. Between the excellent meals and the strenuous physical work of chopping and delivering firewood, I gained twenty pounds of muscle.

Spring came, and the green grass covered the hills again. I begged Don Topo to allow me to put down my axe and go back to the peaks and valleys of the rancho. I wanted to work with livestock, not spend my life on the wrong end of an axe.

He eventually relented, but I owed my reprieve from woodcutting to Lucinda. One morning, I'd been walking back from the church toward the house when I noticed Lucinda and her younger sister Pilar looking into the sky. They were both dressed in their Sunday linen. While Pilar looked like a child, Lucinda looked like a goddess. Though she was only sixteen at the time, her beauty robbed the sun of its light. I went over and looked up to the sky as well, curious about what had caught their attention.

Seeing me, Lucinda feigned delight. "Praise Jesus, Pilar, we are saved! Charlie has come to rescue your kite."

Pilar's eyes grew wide.

Lucinda pointed at the top of an immense pine tree, where a patch of white paper was barely visible.

"Charlie looks like a stick with pimples," Lucinda told Pilar, speaking as if I were not standing next to them, "but at least he has enough sand to climb to the top of the tree and fetch our kite."

"We can just buy a new one, Lucinda," Pilar said, looking worried. "Don't ask him to do this, please?"

"Be quiet. Let the raggedy orphan boy gather what huevos he has so he can become our knight in shining armor."

When I didn't move, Lucinda frowned and her lips became compressed. She nodded her head in my direction and raised her eyebrows. It was clear my hesitation was nothing more than cowardice in her eyes.

I took in a resolute breath and, with a defiant glance toward Lucinda, strode up to the tree and boosted myself up onto the lowest branch.

The climb was not difficult. I knew the important thing was not to look down. In less than five minutes I was at the very top of the tree, where the branches were smaller and swayed slowly. I momentarily lost my nerve, but when I heard Lucinda's laughter rise up through the branches, the resolve flooded back into my heart.

Inching out on the limb that held the kite, I stretched out my hand until I caught the kite string. I drew the kite in and, clutching it to my chest, looked over the Monterey Bay.

The wooden pier that stretched out from the docks into the water appeared tiny, and the big ships looked like toys. People on the street seemed no bigger than ants. Without wanting to, I glanced down—and my blood froze. I clutched the tree trunk like a Chinaman holds his opium pipe.

After what seemed like hours, I heard Lucinda tell Pilar that I wasn't as much of a man as she hoped and they needed to get home for dinner.

"Come down now, Charlie," Pilar sobbed.

There was no alternative but to come down. No one was going to rescue me, however, my attempt to impress Lucinda made no sense unless I brought the kite back.

Holding onto the kite made it hard to climb down, but I was making progress until I stepped on a rotten branch, lost my balance and started the long, painful plunge back to earth. Halfway down I landed astride a stout branch, and nearly blacked out from the pain. I remained draped over the branch for a second, then slid off and continued my plunge, stout branches slapping at me all the way down until I finally crashed into the earth in front of the Topo sisters.

I lay there, grunting in pain and unable to speak.

Lucinda peered down at me, eyes wide, and Pilar peeked around her with tears glistening on her cheeks.

"Where is our kite, little boy?" Lucinda asked.

All the breath was knocked out of me, but there was no answer needed. Lucinda knew where the kite was.

"Well, regardless, dinner is waiting." She then took Pilar by the hand and led her away toward their house.

After a long while, I managed to stand up and limp back home. I was black with pine pitch and dirt but nothing seemed broken.

I was the last to arrive at the table. Dõna Inez frowned at me but it was hard to tell if her dark look was because I was late or because I hadn't gotten all the dirt and pitch off my clothes.

At one point during the meal, Lucinda let out a short, high-pitched squeal and hit the table rapidly with both hands.

Everyone stopped eating and stared at her.

"Sorry," Lucinda said. "I swallowed a pepper."

Her family resumed eating again, until she let out another warble, this time sounding like a frightened goat.

When Don Topo demanded to know what she was doing, Lucinda looked at her sister and said, "It's a sound Pilar and I heard this afternoon when Charlie lost his nerve and fell out of a tree."

She once again imitated the cry I'd made as I fell.

Pilar glanced at me, then started laughing in spite of herself. Soon she was laughing so hard the milk she had in her mouth came out her nose. This caused Lucinda, who hardly ever even giggled, to break into peals of uncontrolled laughter.

Don Topo took one look at my burning face, and ordered Lucinda and Pilar from the table.

The next day, he told me I could go back to the canyons, and that he'd get another wood cutter. Without meaning to, Lucinda had saved me from the life I hated and allowed me to return to the life I loved.

Earlier that year, I had worked chopping wood for one month without pay in return for the pick of two young colts from Don Topo's large band of horses. When the moon was right, Genero came out and castrated my two young stallions, turning them into geldings. They were then branded with the Topo Rancho crescent-and-spear brand. Don Topo had a small branding iron made up for me in the shape of a C, and I branded my horses with it underneath the Topo Ranch brand.

I was allowed to pasture my horses near Monterey on some property Don Topo owned. It was, I felt, the start of a good set of horses to ride at the cattle gathers. Not only did I have these two young horses, but Don Topo had also given me a bill of sale for Luna. It was almost worth the fall out of the tree, because now I could start training my colts to be cow horses.

Once Don Topo had made up his mind that I should go, no time was wasted and I left the following Monday. With Don Topo's blessing, I pushed my little band of horses to the canyon to meet Genero and the other vaqueros. We would gather the steers to bring to the slaughterhouse, which had been erected near San Francisco.

My wages from cutting firewood had allowed me to invest in a larger, more ornate set of spurs, a new flat-brimmed hat and a sixty-foot riata. I started to study my shadow to enjoy the fine figure I cut, until, much to my embarrassment, Genero called me the "second coming of Don Tomasino." I never looked at my shadow again, but my life as a full-fledged vaquero had begun.

After riding through the flats and arroyos looking for cattle, I would come back to the ranch. If there were any daylight left, I would gather my colts into the corral. First, with Genero's help, I roped and choked each one of them down, and then placed rope halters on their heads for them to drag along the ground. When they stepped on the lead rope, they would learn to give to the pressure on their nose. I'd use Luna to crowd them into a corner, then I'd reach down, grab a halter rope, and wrap the rope around my saddle horn.

Soon the young geldings had learned to be led. From there, they were taught about standing tied, and eventually they accepted the saddle blankets and then the saddle. I was proud of my little remuda, and proud of Luna for the calm presence she brought to the chore of gentling the colts.

One Saturday, I was dispatched to Monterey to buy sugar, coffee, and salt. By the time I returned, it was late evening, and a half-moon peered from behind the clouds. As I crested the last hill before dropping down to the bunkhouse, I nearly bumped into a horseman who was sitting on a dapple gray horse, staring at the pasture. His large roweled spurs and the heavy silver conchs that adorned his short chapederos gleamed in the moonlight, and his flat-brimmed hat was pulled down low over his eyes.

I followed his line of sight to where the remuda of ranch horses were grazing, and then returned my focus to him. 'He had a Henry rifle in the scabbard, two Navy pistols in holsters set over the horn of the saddle, and another pistol in his belt. A large knife was sticking out of his boot top.

The rider turned to look at me, but I still couldn't make out his face under the flat-brimmed hat. He reined his horse around and simply walked off with a calm, familiar-sounding "buenos noches."

I didn't know what to do, so I rode down the hill toward the ranch.

After putting away the supplies, I took the rigs off the pack horse and my saddle horse. Then I went into the bunkhouse and squatted down next to Genero's bunk.

"Genero, wake up. I saw a rider on the hill."

Genero groaned and struggled up on one elbow. He rubbed his face and yawned. "It's the custom in California for people ride horses to get from one place to another."

"He was looking at the horses in the pasture," I said. "Why would he be doing that?"

"Could it have been one of the cattle buyers? Maybe they were riding back from Monterey like you were. It's only a few hours before we have to get up. Could we look around in the morning?"

His comment was accompanied by rude suggestions from the other inhabitants of the bunkhouse to shut up or suffer the consequences. I went to bed.

In the morning, we discovered that someone had run off our entire remuda of ranch horses in the night. My two young geldings and Luna were gone, along with the rest of the saddle horses. Only the two horses kept in a corral close to the bunkhouse had escaped the thieves.

I was dispatched to tell Don Topo what had happened, while another vaquero was sent to the town of Gonzales to notify the sheriff. I rode through the canyons, heartbroken, thinking of the mare I had prized so highly. Now she was gone, and maybe for good.

On the way back to Monterey, it suddenly came to me that whenever I thought of the figure I'd seen on the hill, I was reminded of Tiburcio Vasquez—it was something in the set of his shoulders and his voice. Though I wasn't acquainted with Tiburcio, unless I counted the night he'd hidden in the root cellar with me, I had seen him around Monterey enough to recognize his posture.

I found Don Topo at his house, eating dinner. He saw my obvious agitation and asked me what was wrong. When I gave him the news about the stolen horses, he just shrugged, but when I told him I was riding out to retrieve my mare and geldings from Tiburcio Vasquez, he took in a deep breath and pursed his lips.

Lucinda's attention became focused on me when she heard Tiburcio's name, but I didn't attach any significance to it at the time. Lucinda even followed her father and I out onto the porch.

"Go back in the house. I have business to discuss with Charlie," he said.

Lucinda glowered at me like I had ordered her back in the house but did as she was told. I took Don Topo's insistence that we speak in private as a bad sign for Don Topo made it a habit to praise in public but chastise in private.

He wasted no time. As soon as Lucinda had closed the door, he turned to me and said, "Do you know how many horses I own? It would be remarkable if you did, because I don't. I suspect there are eight hundred horses roaming around out there that belong to me. Now you want to get yourself shot over one thin, probably tick-infested mare and two broom-tailed colts? Are you loco, my son?"

I stood there in silence, not wanting to stand up to Don Topo, but unable to back down.

He stared at me for a whole minute and then finally said, "I'll give you ten stud colts if you let this go."

"I want my mare back," I replied.

"Charlie, what makes you think you can even find your mare? Even if you find her, what are you going to do against four or five well-armed bandits? The only thing I foresee is you being gut-shot like a cur dog."

"If I tell the bandits those stolen horses belong to you, they may give them back. You have the respect of everyone from Los Angeles to Yerba Buena."

Don Topo scratched his silver hair above his ears. "They may give you the horses back...or they may just take the horse you're riding and leave your remains in a ditch for the coyotes to eat. It is time you grew up, Charlie. Horse thieves don't concern themselves with giving respect. It is at odds with their craft."

Finally, Don Topo let out a heavy sigh. "If you must pursue this foolishness, take my best horse: the big bay gelding down at the livery stable. He'll carry you further and faster than any horse on the coast. And have the maid prepare some jerky, some corn mush, and two canteens of water so you don't die of thirst while you're out searching for the bandits who will no doubt cut your throat."

Don Topo shifted his sash and from somewhere beneath his bulk brought out a silver engraved compass. He handed it to me and peered into my eyes. "This came over from Spain many years ago," he said. "It was given to me by my grandfather. I can never replace it, so you owe it to me to bring it back. You are hard-headed, Charlie. If you have no concern for yourself, think of my compass."

"I'll bring it back," I said, tucking the compass into my vest pocket.

"Don't disappoint me by getting yourself killed," he said, then he shook his head at my foolishness then turned to go back in the house.

"You have many people who tell you things," I said. "Has anyone said which young woman Tiburcio is courting?"

Don Topo put his hand on the door frame and turned back to me. "That isn't a bad question, Charlie. The answer won't help you find your mare, but at least you are trying to think things out before you ride off. I've heard that Tiburcio is pledged in marriage to Anastasio Garcia's sister. Tiburcio and Anastasio ride together. Do you know where the Garcia Rancho is?"

"I believe so."

"Well, don't go there. No one stole those horses to use them on the ranch. That is too much like work. They will likely sell them to the miners north of Sacramento. They will be able to drive them fifty miles the first day, and won't stop until they feel safe. Then they will rest the horses so they will be in good flesh and bring more money. Anastasio Garcia's uncle has a ranch near Tres Pinōs. Ride to the ranch, make a five-mile circle around the headquarters, and look in the canyons. That is your best chance of finding your horses."

I impulsively stepped forward and embraced the rotund little man. It seemed to take him by surprise. He finally patted my shoulder before turning to go back in the house.

I took my saddle to the livery stable and put it on Don Topo's big, elegant gelding. The horse was so tall I had to jump to catch the stirrup.

Once on board, I guided him out into the darkness, wondering if Don Topo was sending me off on a wild goose chase just to keep me from getting hurt. However, what he said made sense. Having no better plan, I headed north with a burning desire to retrieve my mare and geldings.

I should have had many contacts to call on within the Spanish Community, since through my mother I was related to half of the Hispanic population in the state, and some of those people might have heard where the horses had been taken. But my Spanish blood did me little good. Because of my father's name, Horn, and my green eyes and nearly blonde hair, I was rarely acknowledged as a relative.

The more I thought about it, the more I thought Don Topo was right: the bandits hadn't stolen the horses to keep them but to sell them, and the closer they got to the gold mines, the more money the horses would bring.

I rode the King's Highway, pushing the big gelding as fast as I thought prudent, only briefly stopping at running creeks to let him drink and rest for a minute while I reset the saddle. We alternated between trotting and walking for the rest of the night, guided by the stars.

In the darkness, I passed through the tiny settlement of Tres Pinõs and kept on some five miles until I came to the Garcia Rancho owned by Anastacio's uncle. When I saw the headquarters, I veered right to make a big circle around the ranch.

Just a short distance from the road, I smelled smoke and headed for the top of a small hill to get my bearings.

As we neared the top, my horse raised his head and nickered softly. I dismounted and tied him to a pine tree, and then continued as quietly as I could on foot.

As I crested the hill, I heard the rustling of livestock down in a flat on the other side of the hill. The smell of a campfire became stronger, but I still could not see it.

Under the half-moon, I crawled crept down through out of the brush to where the horses were being held. Squatting on my haunches, I located the nearest vaquero sitting propped against a tree: he was in a location to stand watch but instead had gone to sleep.

I whistled softly, and one of the horses raised its head. To my delight, it was Luna, my beloved mare.

Filled with relief, I stood up to look closer—and something struck me behind the ear hard enough to knock me to the ground. The loud ratcheting of a pistol being cocked sounded in the still night air.

A voice ordered me to my feet, but as I started to obey, a spur-adorned boot stepped on my neck and forced me back down.

"I don't know who you are or what you want," a gruff voice said, "but the trigger on this weapon is faulty. You could be shot even if you don't make any sudden moves, but you will most certainly be shot if you do."

A large hand grasped the back of my jacket and pulled me to my feet. The barrel of the pistol dug into my back and I was pushed back up the hill to where I had tied my horse.

My captor untied my horse and motioned for me to walk down a trail, toward the flickering light of the camp.

The two figures sitting by the campfire looked up as we approached, and my captor shoved me down on the ground before them.

"Why were you doing, skulking around in the dark?" he asked.

Turning to look at him, I saw a very large and muscular Californio with a black beard. His fierce visage made me wish for a moment that I'd taken Don Topo's offer of the ten colts and stayed in Monterey. I figured, judging from his size alone, that this man must be the widely feared and justifiably hated outlaw Antastacio Garcia.

One of the men seated by the fire spoke up. His voice was refined and almost feminine. "Stand closer to the fire so I can see your face."

I got up from the ground and moved to the campfire.

"What's your name?" the man asked, rising from where he was seated, and I recognized him: Tiburcio Vasquez. He wore black pants, a white shirt and one of the Navy because of, and because their size allowed a man to draw a pistol or knife unnoticed. The coats were cut long enough to fall below the knees.

He regarded me with mild curiosity. Behind him, on the horn of the saddle he'd been resting against, rested a black hat with a low crown and flat brim.

"My name is Charlie Horn. I was in the root cellar at Don Topo's house the night the vigilantes were searching for you."

"And I rode away from you two nights ago when we met on the ridge," Tiburcio said. "I remember you now. What brings you to visit us tonight?" To my relief, his tone was pleasantly conversational.

"He didn't come to visit. The little whelp was spying on us. But his days of skulking around will end tonight," ,"Anastasio Garcia said, his rough voice breaking through the crisp night air.

"You accidentally took a mare that Don Topo gave to me. I favor her very much. I have come to ask for her return, along with the return of the other Topo horses.."

Tiburcio broke into a string of low curses.

"Tiburcio," Anastasio said, putting up his hands in a gesture of surrender, "only the gray horse had Topo's brand. I thought the rest belonged to the Yankee cattle buyer. For all I knew, Topo had sold the Americans the gray horse. They were all in the same pasture, and it was dark."

It sounded like an apology, or at least acknowledgement of a mistake.

"If we give you back the horses," Tiburcio said, "what will you say when you get back to Monterey?"

Obviously, this question was of a delicate nature. If I answered it wrong or if the brigands didn't believe me, they would cut my throat.

"I am here for my mare, who I am very fond of, but if you want to give me the other horses that also belong to Don Topo, naturally I will take them. As far as I am concerned, the horses wandered off and have been recaptured."

"We will be seeing this little rat in the witness box in a Yankee court if we don't shut his mouth now," Anastacio said, much to my dismay.

"I doubt Charlie would testify against us. Anastacio has nothing to fear on that count, does he, Charlie?"

I took a breath and hoped I sounded sincere. "This was all a misunderstanding."

"Bueno." Tiburcio said, adjusting the Navy coat around his shoulders. "Now I will help you catch your mare."

Anastacio rounded on the smaller man. "Did someone make you the boss while I was taking a shit in the bushes? I say we cut this whelp's throat and keep his fine gelding. He's nothing more than a gringo kid who's going to put the sheriff on us."

If he was trying to scare me, he was doing a fine job of it. I tried not to let it show.

But Tiburcio Vasquez did not appear frightened. Despite being fifteen years younger and sixty pounds lighter, he held his ground. "We don't kill paisonos," he said, speaking in a reasonable voice, as if what he wanted to do was already agreed upon, "and we don't steal our countrymen's property. Besides, Charlie is very brave to come here unarmed and ask for our help. Always treat brave men with respect. We are all brave men here."

Tiburcio had spoken with the warmth and charm that had kept the native people on his side his whole life, but Anastasio wasn't convinced.

"Why take the stinking horses if we're just going to give them away to the first snot-nosed kid who shows up with a halter rope?" he yelled.

"We made a mistake, and now we are making it right. Don Topo is a relative of mine and of yours as well. Are we animals who steal from family?"

Tiburcio received no answer.

"Charlie," he said, "I didn't mean to take your mare. She came along with the other horses. I have to admit, you have shown great courage in coming here. I usually don't do something so foolish unless it involves gold. If you are that foolhardy, perhaps you should put down your axe and join us as we right the wrongs perpetrated on our people by the Yankees?"

"It would be too exciting a life for me," I replied in a level voice. "I don't have the fortitude to be a highwayman."

"Or the balls," Anastasio muttered from across the fire.

Tiburcio frowned at him. "Most likely he simply realizes that our life is a hard one, and one that offers nothing but the promise of a bitter end. Once you start down this road," he said with a certain amount of resignation, "it is hard to turn back."

I nodded with an idiot's enthusiasm at Tiburcio's observations. I wanted to get back on the road before this gang of desperadoes changed their mind about cutting my throat.

"I feel certain we will meet again," Tiburcio said, and then, true to his word, he told me to follow him to help gather my horses.

Scent of Tears

# Chapter Four

A week after I had retrieved the stolen horses, Don Topo sent word he wanted to see me. I rode to Monterey without delay.

For once, he was waiting for me. He started talking when I entered the house, like he had been working on how the conversation would go.

"You resemble your father, who was a man of great courage. I believe his strength and courage are in you as well." Don Topo wore a flat-crowned black hat with the heavy silver band. His wife strictly enforced the rule that hats were to be removed in the house. Don Topo, who went in fear of his wife, had forgotten to take it off, indicating the subject he had brought me in to discuss was a serious one.

"I have a chance to acquire a valuable piece of ground," he said, "but first I must have gold transported to a bank in San Francisco. I am afraid of being ambushed if I carry it myself, but the people who usually handle these things for me report they are being watched. I've heard talk that the wrong people know about the gold. Just having the gold in the house is making me as nervous as a mouse cornered by snakes."

He rubbed the sweat from his face with a cloth from the table and regarded me solemnly.

"You have confidence," he said. "If you didn't have confidence in yourself, you could never have retrieved your mare from the horse thieves. However, more important than confidence is common sense." He began to pace the room.

"I'm entrusting you with the fastest horse in Monterey. Get the gold to the bank, get the proof of deposit, and come back to let me know you are safe. If anyone approaches you on the road for any reason, you must put the spurs to your horse and run. If you leave tonight and switch horses at my uncle's hacienda in San Jose, you should be able reach San Francisco at first light, two days from now. "

I nodded in hearty agreement at being given such an important task, and lifted heavy saddlebags resting on the table. The bags clinked, and I wondered how I would place them on the saddle so they wouldn't sore the horse.

"But to be safe, start out as if you are riding back to the Chualar Ranch, then double back and take the King's Highway north. There is no way for you to get lost, so everything should go smoothly."

Topo stopped his pacing and narrowed his eyes as he looked at me with trepidation.

"San Francisco abounds with excitement for a young man," Topo said. "The gambling houses, the saloons and the brothels. Make sure you deposit the gold first before you sink into depravity. If you need some money to see the sights, take one gold piece for yourself before you put the money in the bank and then go and enjoy yourself. The important thing is that the money gets to the bank. If it doesn't, the whole house of cards I have constructed will fall apart."

Knowing that entrusting so much money to a boy who had yet to shave would give even the best of men a case of the runs. I started to hand him back his compass, but he waved me off.

"You will see this through." He embraced me with both of his short arms. It felt as if he wanted to embrace his bags of gold as well. After wishing me Godspeed, he ushered me out the door.

I went down to the barn with the bags of gold coin slung over my shoulder and the map clutched in my hand. At the barn, The racehorse Topo had told me to ride was brushed and groomed where the saddle and bridle would rest, but his neck and flanks had been rubbed with mud, and his mane was a rat's nest of matted hair. Stickers and burrs had been placed in his forelock. The fine-blooded horse looked as much a tramp as I did.

I found the main road and made good time. The big horse ate up the distance to San Jose with his long, smooth strides. After we left Monterey, the road was very dark and quiet. The only sound was the lonely clip-clop of my horse's hooves as they struck the packed dirt. I couldn't help but think about the tales of bloodshed and robbery I had heard. Bandits who rode past solitary travelers with a smile, only to turn and bury a large knife in their backs.

Soon, every oak tree and bush looked like it held outlaws waiting to spring out and murder me. As I went deeper into the night, my initial bravado departed like the lights of Monterey.

Despite my fears, the long night passed without trouble and I reached San Francisco at first light, just as Don Topo had planned.

I successfully delivered the gold to the bank and then, after resting and filling up on food, I began the journey back to Monterey without delay.

A few miles from town, it dawned on me that I had done two brave things in less than a week. I felt as if I'd gone from being a child to an adventurer. Had there been a reflective window to ride in front of, I would have looked to see if my experience showed. I wondered if Lucinda would notice that I had changed from a boy to a man.

It was well after dark when I returned the worn-out horse to Don Topo's stable and walked back up the dusty street to the house.

A middle-aged Indian woman who worked as a housekeeper met me at the door. The smell of the food inside the house nearly made me drool.

"Dõna Inez has left instructions that you are to stay in the quarters behind the house until her husband returns. Wait here. I have prepared a bowl of soup for you."

So, I wasn't welcome to come into the house. Tired and hungry I took the soup and tortillas without comment, then promptly burned my tongue trying to drink the soup. Despite being a hero, I must have looked bedraggled, because the Indian woman clucked her tongue. She brought me two blankets and a towel, which she thrust into my arms.

On the way to the guesthouse, I stopped at the water trough in the yard to wash my face and hands. It was fully dark and there was no moon.

Trees separated the guesthouse from the main house, making it quite secluded. As I approached, it surprised me to see a light inside. For a moment I wondered if perhaps the Indian woman had lit a candle for me as well. I dismissed the thought. Candles cost money, and besides, no fire would be left unattended.

I walked toward the porch, stopped suddenly when I saw movement through the small window: it was Lucinda, walking nervously back and forth inside. She had on a thin white nightgown with a shawl over her shoulders. Her long black hair was down. I could smell oak wood burning in the small stove that stood in the center of the house.

I moved back into the blackness and squatted down at the base of a tree, and leaned against its trunk. I had the courage to retrieve my horse from bandits and to transport enough gold to get myself murdered, yet I didn't have enough courage to initiate a conversation with a girl.

Watching her slim figure glide around the room in the candlelight was making my heart pound. My back had ached from the long horseback ride, but at that moment I was aware of nothing but the wonderful, enchanting vision of a girl dancing around a flickering flame.

Lucinda opened the door a few inches and peered out. When she moved back into the room, she left the door open. Was there anything I could say to her that wouldn't result in a plate being thrown at my head? The sweat that soaked my shirt had dried, and I smelled awful from two hard days in the saddle. Despite that, I had just about talked myself into standing up and approaching the guesthouse when a figure clothed in black slipped into the yard. The sound of his spur rowels turning in the dirt caused him to step lightly.

He walked up onto the porch and murmured a greeting under his breath. Lucinda flew to the door, and then stopped. She was very young to be secretly meeting any man outside the supervision of her family. I imagined for a moment she might be overcome by shyness; however, Lucinda was not like any other woman.

She coquettishly leaned against the doorframe and said, "You have come for what I promised you?"

When a calf is roped in the branding corral, the lariat sails out and tightens around his neck until his air is choked off. Another loop laces his hind legs together, and then he is lifted and slammed into the ground. A second later part of his ear is sliced off and his testicles cut out. Then a glowing red iron burns through his hair and sears his flesh. I felt like all of those things were happening to me as I listened to Lucinda speak to Tiburcio Vasquez that dark night.

And it was Tiburcio, no error. I knew by the slope of his shoulders and the confident way he had moved up onto the porch. No one else would have been so self-assured.

He continued to talk to her in melodic tones. Rather than embrace her, he swept his hat off and bowed. He then took her hand in his and gently kissed it.

I sat there, unable to move. If Lucinda saw me spying on her, I could never safely visit her father's house again.

Rather than lead Tiburcio into the cabin, Lucinda brought a chair and a lamp out onto the porch. After hanging the lamp onto a hook set in the wall, she went back inside a moment and then returned, lugging a pot of water and a towel.

Tiburcio carefully removed his coat and hat and laid them on the railing of the porch. He sat down in the chair.

Standing in front on him, she untied the silk scarf from around his neck. The soft laughter that floated into the darkness felt like acid dripping onto my heart.

Lucinda dipped the cloth into the bucket of steaming water, rang it out, and draped it around the outlaw's face. She then took a brush and worked up some shaving cream. The razor was stropped to give it the proper edge, the cream applied and Lucinda set to work. She kept Tiburcio at arm's length when she started, but as the shave progressed, she bent down to make sure of her stroke. Her fingers played over Tiburcio's face, slowly stroking his skin. She would pull the skin tight, and then run the razor over his cheeks. Each stroke seemed to bring her in closer proximity to his body, until her flat belly was pressed against his shoulder. I knew he could feel her breath on his face and smell her hair where it spilled down.

When she had taken the whiskers and one layer of skin off his face, Lucinda walked behind his chair. She began rhythmically and gently pulling his hair and massaging his face with her strong, elegant fingers. The fragrance of the cream she was applying to Tiburcio's face carried to where I hid in the shadows. The smell was familiar. No doubt the lotion had been appropriated from Don Topo's medicine cabinet.

I wondered how Tiburcio managed to sit quietly for as long as he did. After what seemed like an eternity, he suddenly stood up, lifting his hand to indicate she should proceed through the door.

She took his hand, draped it over her shoulder, and dipped her head down to quickly kissed his fingers. They disappeared into the house.

I staggered up from the tree, filled with a choking rage. I thought about circling the house until I found where Tiburcio had tied his horse. I could take my knife and cut the cinch partway so it would break on the trail. I could take the bullets out of his rifle and raise the alarm. Better yet, I could take the horse and tie him up in front of the Sheriff's Office.

Rational thought returned. There was nothing to be accomplished by punishing Tibucio. There wasn't a man in the Alto Sierra that would not be attracted to Lucinda. Most of all, Lucinda didn't consider me worthy of notice. Tiburcio or no Tiburcio, she would never view me as worthy of her.

Besides, he had saved me at the outlaw camp. As sure as bacon tastes good in the morning, Anastasio would have slit my throat and thrown me in a ditch without a second thought. It was no exaggeration to say I owed Tiburcio my life.

What did it matter to me what happened between the two of them? It wasn't my concern, and there was no point in even thinking about what I had seen. I marched back to the big house and let myself in.

The maid who had given me the blankets was still awake. She looked up from her knitting in alarm. I raised my eyebrows and snarled at her. She put her hands in front of her, spun and disappeared into the other room.

I lay down on the fine imported couch, keeping my boots, spurs and hat on. The hell with Dõna Inez and her rules for the house. I had saved the ranch. I would keep my spurs on in the house if I wanted.

Scent of Tears

# Chapter Five

At the first light of dawn, I felt someone frantically shaking my shoulder.

A panicked voice whispered in my ear, "What has come over you? Get off the couch and out of the living room before my wife finds you and we both get run out into the street. Do you know what kind of hell she will release on me if she finds you marking up her furniture with your spurs?"

I rolled off the couch and stumbled after Don Topo into the kitchen.

"I stayed out of the bordellos and kept away from Three Card Monte, Jefe," I said, trying to rub the sleep from my eyes. "I went straight to the bank and came straight home, as you instructed."

Once we reached the safety of the kitchen, Don Topo's demeanor softened. "Working men and criminals keep different hours. If a man goes to bed when the sun sets and gets up before the sun rises, he will always be safe. Let us have some coffee." He poured out two cups.

I drew out a leather wallet from where it had been tucked into my belt. Inside were the certificates of deposit. I placed the wallet on the table in from of Don Topo, and he ran his hand over the outside of the pouch but didn't open it.

"Don't you want to examine the receipts?' I asked.

"No need. I trust you," he said, and smiled an all-encompassing smile. "What can I do for you to repay the service you have done for me?"

"I want to return to the ranch. I don't like the stink of the city."

"You won't find a wife out in the brush, my son," he replied.

"I don't want a wife, Jefe. A brush vaquero is all I ever want to be."

Don Topo laughed, and I gave him a salute and went out the door.

As I stepped into the street, a vision of Lucinda seductively leading Tiburcio into the little house flooded my senses. I was suddenly walking rapidly with no destination and nothing but a jealous rage for company.

The fog was just starting to give way to the sunrise when I came to Alvarado Street. On the corner of Alvarado and Reynosa stood a stout gray horse, tied to a hitching post in front of one of Monterey's more modest brothels. The horse wore Don Topo's brand and a fancy riding rig I recognized as Don Tomasino's.

I walked to the horse and stroked his neck and muzzle. His skin was cool to the touch, which meant he had probably been standing there half the night, saddled and without benefit of water. I fingered the finely woven horse-hair tie-rope that secured the animal to the hitching post, then walked to the other side and loosened the cinch.

No matter how besotted with mescal he had gotten the night before, a life-long vaquero like Tomasino would still wake up before sunrise. I went to the firewood stack behind the bordello and found a three-foot piece of split pine as big around as my wrist. My selection was still green, which meant it would not break. I smoothed off the rough bark until there was a place to secure a grip. Then I rested the stick against the adobe wall of the building and sat down on my heels to wait.

In half an hour, I was rewarded with the sight of Don Tomasino exiting the whorehouse and unsteadily making his way toward his horse. He squared up to the tie rail, put his left hand on his saddle horn to steady himself, and reached into his pants to free things up so he could urinate. He could have gone to the outhouse behind the building, but obviously the need to empty his bladder had overruled his manners. The sound of the thick stream of yellow piss hitting the dirt road was drowned out by his heavy groan. That was followed by a grunt as he bent slightly to put himself back in his pants.

He pulled out a bag of tobacco from his vest and rolled himself a smoke. His hands trembled slightly as he held the match up to the makings.

I stepped up behind him.

"Would it be possible, Don Tomasino, to get back that knife you took from me?" My tone was polite. "It belonged to my dead father, and I would consider it a favor if you returned it."

He looked around, bleary eyed. The morning sunshine and his hangover interfered with his vision.

"What? Who are you?"

"Charlie Horn. I worked for you two years ago. You knocked me unconscious with your quirt and took a knife from me. It is all I have to remember my father by. I must request you return it."

The whoring and drinking from the previous night hadn't done anything for Tomasino's appearance. Normally he was closely shaved and sported a clean shirt. This morning his eyes were blurry, salt-and-pepper whiskers covered his face, and his breath smelled like the asshole of a vulture. He peered at me through a haze of alcohol and cigarette smoke. Suddenly his thick eyebrows shot up.

"You're the kid with the bat ears. What are you saying? I don't have your knife. Get out of my way or I'll introduce you to my quirt again."

We both stood silent. Don Tomasino seemed to have lost his train of thought. It was easy to see he was still drunk as he looked around seemingly disoriented.

He looked back in my direction, surprised I was still there.

"Do you want another beating, you homely white pup?"

"You intend to administer one, jefe?"

Something in the tone of my voice must have alarmed him. His hand disappeared into his vest and came out with my dagger clasped in his fist. I had anticipated the move and stepped just out of reach of the flashing blade. Swiping the knife caused him to stagger. I smiled and retrieved the pine stick from where it rested against the building.

As I circled him, Don Tomasino shifted the knife into his other hand. I stepped into him and smashed the wooden club against his elbow with enough power to elicit a screech. He slashed at me with the knife and overbalanced. I swung again, catching him on the side of his head—and he fell heavily into the dirt.

I swung the club at the outstretched hand holding my knife and heard the sharp crack of bone. Another scream erupted in the early morning light.

As Tomasino was wracked with the dry heaves I reached over and picked up my father's knife. The whale-bone handle and rusted iron blade felt at home in my hand.

Tomasino was clawing at his pocket. I hit him on the elbow with the stick, reached into his vest, and retrieved a small revolver. I flung the pistol onto the roof of the building.

"You can't knock me down in the middle of the street," Tomasino croaked.

"And yet, here you are, reclining in the dirt."

Tomasino waved his hand in my direction as if he were dismissing me.

"Get out of here, you ugly pup."

I reached down, grabbed the wine-stained silk scarf tied around his neck, and pulled him off the ground.

"Listen," I said, "this last blow is for leaving that good Topo Ranch saddle horse without water all night."

I drew back my pine club, and Tomasino let out a rough cry and threw his hands over his head, falling back to the dirt.

As I looked down on him, a door opened onto the alley. A man with a broom and pail came outside. He tossed the dirt from the pail onto the street and studiously ignored Tomasino's prostrate body. I had a delicious urge to continue the assault. An early-morning beating would hardly draw comment in the violent town of Monterey. However, accidentally killing this obnoxious bag of guts would create problems for Don Topo. I tossed the club toward the woodpile and went back to the stables to find a horse to carry me back to the ranch.

Scent of Tears

# Chapter Six

Although I tried to avoid Monterey and Lucinda, Don Topo had another task for me in less than a month.

The other vaqueros in camp resented my trips to Monterey, both because I left the crew shorthanded and because I didn't visit the whorehouses while in town. They felt that I was wasting the trip if I didn't spend the night drinking and whoring. Their resentment didn't matter to me. I was Don Topo's man, and I accepted the label as his favorite without complaint.

Somehow, the story about my beating Tomasino made it back to the bunkhouse, so at least the derision and insults directed toward me were spoken more softly. Indeed, Tomasino had been sent to take care of a much smaller ranch located north of Monterey. There was a rumor he'd sold more cattle than he reported to Don Topo in return for money under the table from the cattle buyers. Hence, his responsibilities were greatly reduced.

Once in Monterey I was instructed to meet with some cattle buyers, take them to a pasture and gather the steers Don Topo wanted to sell. Most importantly I was responsible for the count. These steers were being purchased by the head, so an accurate count was crucial to all parties.

After completing my tasks, I returned to Monterey well after dark. Not knowing who was home, I knocked on the door. The maid who had directed me to the cabin on my last visit told me that this time Don Topo had said I should stay in the house.

I rolled out my blankets on the floor in the root cellar, next to the door. It felt comfortable and familiar. Sleeping by the kitchen like the family pet was the only sense of home I remembered having.

A faint ray of sun found its way under the door as the sun peeked over the mountains. I heard Don Topo enter the kitchen and feed some wood into the cook stove. I rolled out from my blankets, intending to give him the count on the cattle he'd sold, when I heard someone else come into the kitchen. Inez, Don Topo's wife had a strange way of clearing her throat, and she did so as she walked into the kitchen. I had never known her to be up and about at sunrise and wondered what concerns had driven her out of bed.

"Even if your ill-advised plan were to work," Inez said, "Charlie doesn't know how old he is and that information should be on the marriage certificate. Only his mother knew his date of birth and she's dead."

"That isn't important," Don Topo said. "The priests will draw up a birth certificate. He's as old as I say he is. If I say he's seventeen and was born on Christmas Day, the church document will reflect that."

"You blaspheme!" Inez's voice rose in outrage.

"No, I tithe the Catholic priests ten percent of the money from the sale of cattle. It gives me leeway with names and dates on church documents."

"Blasphemy and corruption."

"Well, Inez, politics, money and corruption all flow out of the same lake. This concern over birthdays is beside the point. How sure are you that Lucinda is with child? Does she have morning sickness? Is her belly showing?"

There was a moment of silence, then I heard the coffee pot being slammed down on the stove

"Yes, all of those things."

"Who is the father of our first grandchild?"

Dõna Inez was more comfortable talking about my shortcomings.

"He can't even read."

"Charlie can't read because you never let the tutor teach him," Don Topo said. "And now, because of your stubbornness, you are going to have an illiterate son-in-law."

Wood thudded as Topo fed more sticks into the stove.

"I can see by your face that she told you, Inez. Who is the father?"

There was another long silence. I could picture Inez turning away.

"You let this happen, Inez. Now, we must have a course of action."

"How is it my fault? You spoiled her. You let her ride horses like a man and do fiesta tricks in front of your friends. It is your fault as much as mine. You stood in the way of my authority. Now that I consider it, the fault is completely yours."

"Whether because of my failings or yours, she is with child, and something needs to be done. Start by telling me who the father is."

"You are gone most of the time, riding all over the country," Inez said, warming to the subject of assigning blame. "You were never here to help me discipline any of the girls."

Don Topo's voice took on a resigned tone. "If I don't show myself at our ranches, then soon we won't have any ranches. We wouldn't have any cattle or hides to sell. Without that money, you wouldn't be running to the wharf to buy the latest fashions from trading ships. Now, who is the father?"

"What will you do if Lucinda rebels against you as she rebels against me?"

"She can be obedient, or she can leave this house and go work in a laundry. I can arrange that very easily. For the last time, Inez, who is the father?

"Tiburcio Vasquez," Inez said, sounding defeated.

I heard what I took to be a fist slam into the heavy planks of the dining room table. Then, three more times, violently. Quick footsteps ran up the stairs: it sounded like Dõna Inez, fleeing the kitchen.

During the silence that followed, I lay there in my blankets, embarrassed at what I had heard.

Minutes passed, and then Don Topo sighed. The wooden chair creaked as he got up to fix his coffee.

"Come have some coffee with me, Charlie." I emerged from the cellar as Topo sat back down, a squat little man with heavy jowls and thick silver-streaked hair who had always protected me. His mustache bristled as he looked at me. All of Don Topo's power rested in his eyes. His eyes were kind, but you could see the mind behind the eyes: Don Topo's brain was always engaged, always planning and calculating.

He patted his vest and came up with a small cigar. "Have you started smoking tobacco yet?" he asked, and pulled a second cigar out of his pocket. He idly held it up in my direction.

"No. They make me dizzy," I replied, somewhat taken back at the offer.

"It's an expense you don't need."

He lit the cigar and took in a lung-full of smoke. "You don't drink either? I have little birds all over the coast who sing to me."

I thought, The little birds must not live in the tree outside the guest house where Lucinda met with Tiburcio but I stayed silent.

Topo rose from the rawhide-bound chair and picked up the coffee pot. He took two cups from the counter, poured us each a cup, and then took a deep breath.

"You must promise not to beat her, Charlie," he said in a solemn tone.

"Beat who?" The only two females he could have been referring to were Inez and Lucinda. I doubted he was asking me to refrain from beating his wife. As for Lucinda, until the winter I cut wood for the ships and filled out, she would have beaten me.

Don Topo saw the confusion in my face.

"Your wife to be, Charlie. Lucinda can be difficult. I am asking, as her father, that you don't beat her, no matter what she does."

My surprise stole away my ability to speak. To cover my shock, I took a quick sip of the coffee and scalded my tongue.

Don Topo ignored my mumbled curse. He smiled at me and leaned forward, putting his hand on my shoulder. "When you marry her, you will become my son. I will set aside property and cattle for you. Your fortune, as much as I can assure it, will be made."

"Then Lucinda's pregnant?" I finally stuttered, feeling my face flush with embarrassment.

"What's worse, as you no doubt heard, the outlaw Vasquez is the father. It's no matter. We will raise the child as a member of the family. You will ride to San Francisco with Lucinda to have the marriage sanctified by the church. Then you will both stay with my aunt until the baby is born. After that, you will come back to Monterey as my son-in-law."

As the ramifications of Don Topo's statement settled on my shoulders, my eyes widened until it felt like my eyeballs might fall out.

"You look lost. Will you help me protect my family's honor?" he finally asked.

"I owe you everything, Don Topo."

"Then it is settled," he said, placing both hands on the heavy table and pushing his chair back.

"What about Lucinda?" I said in a panic. "What does she think about this arrangement?" I remembered Lucinda's predilection to pick things up and throw them at my head when I wasn't looking. Not only that, if I were married to her, I would be standing between her and Tiburcio Vasquez.

"For once, Lucinda will do what she is told. If she won't, then I will place her on the stage to Santa Barbara. It will be understood that when she gets there, she will work in my nephew's laundry if she wants to eat. Don't worry, my son, Lucinda would prefer to stay in Monterey where she has servants to do the work while she takes shopping excursions to the merchant ships. She is very fond of buying lace and fine shoes, a calling she learned from my wife. Lucinda will choose the luxury of Monterey over a life of poverty in Santa Barbara."

"What about Tiburcio?" I asked, and immediately regretted the question.

Don Topo's face darkened. "I doubt he will make it to the wedding. He is fully engaged in stealing livestock from hard-working ranchers. It's hard to attend a wedding when your face is on 'wanted' posters."

"Where will we live?"

"At the Chualar Ranch. You'll manage the ranch. If you are smart, you will let Lucinda live here in Monterey with her sisters, so they can help her care for the child."

This was too much to grasp.

"I had better go tend to my horse," I said. I went back to my bedroll to put on my boots and pick up my hat.

Don Topo kept on talking from the kitchen. "Charlie, even before this came up, I had plans for you. You proved yourself courageous and resourceful when you got your mare back from the horse thieves. There are few, if any, men I would trust to carry gold alone to San Francisco. I would have made you a partner in the ranches at some point, even if this blessed event had not come to pass. Now our partnership is going to happen sooner rather than later. Just agree with Lucinda as much possible. When you find yourself in an argument you can't win, go to the ranch. Avoiding one's wife by retreating to the cow camp has helped save marriages since the Spaniards came to the Alto Sierra."

"She doesn't want me for her husband, and she won't accept this arrangement," I said, but Don Topo was not open to argument. He had seen a way to avoid a scandal and he was going to take it.

"The world is changing, Charlie. The days when you could catch a fresh horse when the one you were riding gave out are over. When I was a boy, if you were hungry, you killed a steer and ate your fill, and if you hung the hide on the tree for the owner to find, nobody cared. Now steers are worth sixty dollars in San Francisco–and if you kill and eat one, you will be hung."

Don Topo patted his vest pocket for a match, which he used to light another small cigar.

"When I started in this business, all I had to worry about was how much it rained. Now I'm spending more and more time defending the title to our ranchos and figuring out how to pay the taxes. I'm going to need you with me in these challenging times. Let Lucinda live in town, and you stay on the ranch. Nothing will change except the way I introduce you. You will no longer be my employee but my son-in-law and it will be my honor to introduce you as such. And when Lucinda has her child, it will have a calming effect on her. Horsemen all say a mare is better after having a colt."

Don Topo paused and used one hand to rub the back of his hand while he tried to come up with other reasons I shouldn't dread being married to his daughter.

"It won't be as bad as you think," he said. "After all, no one would argue that Lucinda isn't beautiful. She's also smart and brave. She may be a little willful, a little bad tempered, but she will settle down. Given enough time, she will accept you as her husband. Have courage, Charlie. It will all work out."

I sat thinking of all the things an angry Lucinda was capable of. Heaving heavy objects at my head was the least of what she might do.

"It will all work out," he said again.

"Who are you trying to convince, Jefe?" I asked under my breath.

That night, I slept fitfully. The thought of being forced into marriage with a girl as explosive as Lucinda kept me awake most of the night. When I wasn't awake, I was having nightmares.

I dreamt Lucinda had chased me into the Pacific Ocean. In my dream, she was a giant and stood on the shore, yelling at me to swim out to sea and find where my father had drowned. I was afraid to swim out to sea, but also afraid to swim back to the shore, because Lucinda would find me and squash me like a bug.

I came awake with a jolt before dawn, and doubted I would ever go back to sleep again.

Scent of Tears

# Chapter Seven

Two days later, I began the journey to San Francisco with Don Topo, Pilar and Lucinda. Donna Inez had declared herself too ill to travel with us. Evidently she felt so awful she couldn't even bring herself to congratulate her new half-white, half-witted son-in-law. Pilar, the youngest sister, had been brought along to serve as a bridesmaid at our wedding.

Don Topo and his girls rode in an ornate, high-wheeled carriage, and I rode alongside. My horse, one of Don Topo's finest, was carrying my newly purchased spade bit. He worked the bit constantly with his tongue. The metal roller in the mouth piece sounded like an agitated cricket. I found the rapid clicking noise melodic.

"That is the most annoying sound I have ever heard," Lucinda said between clenched teeth. "Take the bit out of that horse's mouth and ride him with the bosal. Do it this very minute."

I kept looking ahead and didn't stop the horse. To me, the sound of a spade-bit cricket was a relaxing, pretty sound, just like the sound of my spur rowels ringing when I walked.

Lucinda burst out in annoyance, "Fail to heed my instructions, you dolt, and I'll cut your bridle reins."

The reins were tightly braided rawhide with many intricate buttons. They were a work of art, and I was proud of them. Most likely, Lucinda was kidding. Still, I moved the horse a few more yards away from the carriage, just in case she wasn't.

The trip would take three days, with nightly accommodation at the homes of Topo's many relatives. During our journey, Lucinda acted very aloof toward everyone. Indeed, her outburst about the noise the horse was making were the first words she had spoken to me the entire trip. Twice her father had told her that she had better sharpen her acting skills and make believe she was a happy bride, or he'd toss her out of the carriage and she could walk back to Monterey. She snapped at him to stop the carriage and she would do just that. They glared at each other, but the carriage rolled on toward San Francisco.

As we rode, Don Topo spoke with me about the condition of the cattle and the cycle of drought and flood that plagued California. In that respect, it was time well spent. Don Topo freely shared his knowledge about the agricultural enterprises we passed, and pontificated at length about what made money or lost money and why. The landscape seemed to inspire him. He had always made an effort to educate me on how things worked, but this was our first time traveling together for any distance.

Lucinda always looked off in disgust when these tomes on agriculture enterprise were expressed, but several times Pilar tried to join in the conversation. Whenever she said something, Lucinda glared at her until she was quiet. Lucinda also glared at her father and at me, but we succeeded in ignoring her attempts at restricting our conversation.

Pilar resembled Don Topo in build and intelligence. She was the only member of the household besides Don Topo who made an effort to be kind to me. Once during the trip, in an incredible show of bravery, Pilar mimicked Lucinda's mannerisms to entertain me. She looked down over her right elbow, wrapped her arms under her breasts, and thrust her nose in the air as high as it would go. It was a fine caricature of Lucinda's behavior when she was sneering at something, and it required split-second timing to avoid Lucinda's detection. I nearly bit through my lip to keep from laughing.

Once, when the oldest sister, Evangeline, had made fun of something Lucinda was wearing, Lucinda had grabbed a heavy cooking pot and gone after Evangeline, intending to hit her over the head. It had taken all members of the household to pull the two girls apart. Lucinda's big sister came out of the battle much the worse for wear, sporting a knot on her forehead for many days after.

On the third day, at around one in the afternoon, we arrived at the outskirts of San Francisco. The closer we got to the center of the city, the more the smell and hubris of civilization blighted the landscape.

Of course, Don Topo had relatives who lived in the city, so that is where we dropped off Lucinda, her sister, their maid, and a mountain of luggage.

Don Topo and I went on to the Yerba Buena Mission, where he was greeted like a visiting dignitary. We were each given our own rooms next to the central hall. My room had a large, fresh pitcher of water to wash up with, as well as clean sheets and towels. The tile floors were immaculate. The sparse furniture was so heavy and artistically carved it had to have been imported from Spain. Dinner was lamb, fresh corn and tiny artichokes soaked in garlic butter, all served on heavy china plates etched with gold filigree. It was wonderful food, and my trepidation eased as I took advantage of the bounty on the table.

However, that trepidation came back the next morning.

"I don't want to marry this boy," Lucinda said to her father as we gathered for the wedding breakfast in the dining room of the Mission.

This time, rather than lying in my customary spot behind the root cellar door I was in the room with them, which evidently it didn't matter. Lucinda simply talked as if I wasn't there.

Don Topo gave her a stern look and nodded at Pilar to leave the room.

"You know the vigilantes will never catch Tiburcio," Lucinda said.

Don Topo sighed and gently put his hand on Lucinda's shoulder. Lucinda twitched slightly but didn't knock the hand off. There was sadness in her father's voice. "Say his name again and I will ship you back to Spain and place you in a convent. Vasquez has disgraced you and dishonored your family."

"The people love him for striking out against the injustice of the Yankees."

Lucinda stepped back and tipped a chair over. The chair clattered onto the tile floor.

Don Topo's eyes blazed and his mustache bristled as he faced his daughter.

"He is nothing but a small-time cattle thief who uses discrimination against the Spanish and Indians as an excuse for stealing livestock. Let me put a bounty on his head. We will see how much his fellow countrymen love him if they have to choose between a thousand dollars in gold and their loyalty to an outlaw. If enough gold is offered for his capture, he will be in prison or dead within a year."

"You are wrong," Lucinda said and drew herself up to her full height, which was equal to mine and several inches above her father's.

Don Topo looked up at her as they locked eyes. Now Don Topo's smile grew cold. "We will have the appearance of a respectable family. Your forefathers didn't work this hard and risk as much as they did to have their legacy tarnished by scandal. Your sisters don't deserve it. Your mother doesn't deserve it. Most of all, your unborn child doesn't deserve it. Our family will not live under the cloud of your disgraceful behavior. You will accept Charlie as your husband."

"Why marry me to this idiot?"

My jaws clenched and I felt the muscles across my back tighten, but neither of them seemed to notice I was there. They could have been discussing the merits of a freshly acquired bull calf.

"Charlie is a fine person. Do you think that a hard-working, sober man such as Charlie couldn't find a kind and gentle woman to marry? He is doing this for me and for no other reason. Charlie has provided services to this family that you know nothing about. He has demonstrated tremendous bravery, and his loyalty to me is without question. It would greatly please me if you kept a civil tongue in your head."

Lucinda glared at me for a moment before turning her head away.

Don Topo went on in a more conciliatory tone: "Charlie will honor you, which is more than you can say for Vasquez."

Like her mother, Lucinda liked to change the subject when she didn't want to lose an argument.

"The Californios will never betray him."

"Then where is this bandit you favor so much? He hasn't shown his face in Monterey since the constable was killed. If he felt anything for you, he would have come back and taken you off my hands." Don Topo covered his eyes with his hands then quickly removed them again. "Que lastima, I see you are still here."

Lucinda's nostrils flared wide and her lips compressed together into a line. She seemed to be chewing on her inner lip while she worked on a reply.

"I have difficulty understanding his absence," her father said. "Perhaps it is caused by his engagement to Chona, Anastacio Garcia's sister?"

Lucinda rocked back, as if she had been slapped.

"You look surprised," Don Topo said. "All of Monterey knows of this love match. Even your knight errant, Tiburcio Vasquez admits to his compadres he is enamored."

The color of Lucinda's eyes darkened, and I was afraid Don Topo had gone too far. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I looked for a place to hide in case she started throwing things.

Instead, perhaps sensing that her father was at the end of his tether, Lucinda changed the subject. "Is there any chance you are expecting me to share a bed with this...?" Apparently unable to come up with a word low enough to accurately describe me, she simply nodded her head in my direction and threw her hands up in exasperation.

"Who sleeps where remains a matter between a husband and wife," Don Topo replied.

"I would rather kill myself than submit to this pimple faced boy."

With surprising quickness, Don Topo slipped a small dagger from his sash, flipped it over, and held the handle in her direction. "I am tired of listening to your histrionics. If you'd seek death rather than honor your family and give your child a name, take the knife and carry out your threat. Do it now, in front of me, and let's be done with your threats."

Lucinda turned her head and swept from the room into the main part of the church. I felt the breath leave my body.

"That was a risky thing," I said once she was well out of earshot.

"It was Lucinda indulging in theatrics. I know my daughter, Charlie. She is too mean to end her own life. However, before you attempt to join her in the marriage bed, keep this in mind: just because she won't cut her own wrists, doesn't mean she won't cut yours. I wouldn't be too quick to assert your marital rights unless you are able to sleep with one eye open."

Reassuring words from my future father-in-law that I pondered throughout the night.

The next morning, we went to a dry goods store where Topo bought me a charcoal suit with a string tie and some black dress shoes that were too small. Topo paid in advance for photographs to be taken before the wedding. Lucinda insisted our wedding pictures be separate. I saw no point in having a picture taken of me at all, anymore than a steer would want a picture taken right before he was led to slaughter.

Though she was adamantly opposed to the marriage, Lucinda had shopped for a wedding dress. She had coerced a great deal of money from Topo for a simple but extremely expensive white dress and veil. Topo grumbled that he could have bought another ranch with the money Lucinda spent on a wedding dress and accompanying portrait.

The wedding was scheduled for six that evening, so I was let loose on the city, but only after Don Topo had extracted three separate promises from me that I would not ride back to Monterey. As I started to walk away, he gripped my arm and drew from me one last solemn vow that I would return to the Mission for the wedding.

I was half-way down the block when Pilar caught up with me.

"Papa says I must go with you. However, if you want to escape, I'll delay reporting your absence for as long as possible."

I tried to remember how old she was. My best guess was twelve. I looked at her chubby, happy face and smiled. If her teeth weren't crooked, she would have been pretty. Her eyes sparkled with intelligence and humor.

"Are you really going to marry that witch?" she asked.

"Do you mean Lucinda?" I replied, taken aback.

"There was only one witch riding in the carriage."

"Pilar, you of all people should know I am honor-bound to do what your father asks. You know how much I owe him. Don't you want me for a brother-in-law?"

"I'll be proud to have you as a brother-in-law. You're my one true friend, Charlie. But I feel my father is forcing you into a marriage with a woman who sees you as somebody to make fun of, not to marry. Lucinda is awful to be around even when she's happy, but when she finds herself in a situation she doesn't want to be in, it will be hell for you."

"Watch your language."

Pilar skipped twice, then spun around and told me she had never been to San Francisco before. She followed that with a thoughtful frown.

"Do you love my sister? I expect you do. You would not have climbed the pine tree and nearly killed yourself for anyone else."

Now I was flustered. Pilar didn't seem to expect an answer.

"I'm a few years younger and perhaps not as pretty, but you should have waited for me. If I were your wife you'd have a happier life."

"You're not old enough to have those thoughts."

"Lucinda sees none of the good things about you, Charlie."

"It's a very difficult situation."

"You mean because Lucinda was bitten by the trouser snake?"

"Pilar!"

"I'm just repeating what Evangeline said."

We continued along the boardwalk in silence.

"You've been to San Francisco before, Charlie," she stated. "My mother said you would find your way into a den of depravity and never return to Monterey."

"Your mother has a low opinion of me."

"What is a den of depravity? Did you go to one when you were here before?"

"Dens of depravity are where men drink whiskey and lose their money gambling. At least, that's what your father tells me," I said, hoping that would shut her up.

"From listening to my mother and sisters, I think there's more going on than gambling and drinking. Are you telling me the whole story?"

"No."

"What did you do the last time you were here?"

"I visited my mother's grave," I replied, praying that would end her inquiries.

It didn't.

"Do you miss her?"

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her that was none of her business, but her shining face was so open and happy I couldn't bring myself to be rude.

"Yes, Pilar, I miss her. Without a mother, you don't have anyone to show you love and kindness. You don't really have a place in the world."

Pilar spun around once more and smiled brightly.

"Someone should tell my mother she must show her children love and kindness. She has never been informed."

"You know too much for your own good," I replied. "Now let's find the things we came for and get back to the church. Your father is waiting."

"Of course, Charlie. You and my father are men. You always know what you're doing. So where are we going?"

We walked into a shopping district and found a bank where I used almost all my savings to buy thirteen gold coins. Then we went to a dry goods store that sold watches. The watch I bought wasn't anything special. It had scrolling on the back but it wasn't made of silver or gold. Still, it took all the money I had left.

Afterward, I let Pilar lead me around while she took in the sights. Her curiosity and interest in the world were nearly as wide ranging as Don Topo's. Pilar wanted to know why I had bought the coins and the watch, but I kept that information to myself. She had a hundred other questions too, but I ignored her as best I could.

When we returned, both Don Topo and Lucinda were waiting in a church alcove, sipping wine. From the redness of Topo's face, I suspected quite a lot of wine. I presented him with the tin case watch.

"For you, Jefe. For all that you have done for me. I will always be in you debt, and hope I will always remain in your service."

He looked at me with curiosity, then took it. He smiled.

"May our association always be a wonderful thing for both of us."

Before Don Topo stuck me in this awful mess that had been the case.

I turned and handed Lucinda the coins.

"Why are you handing me money, you moron?" Lucinda said with her usual gentle demeanor.

Don Topo suddenly clapped his hands together, and then held them out with the palms up in amazement. "Of course! It's a tradition in Spain for the groom to give the bride's father a watch and to give the bride thirteen coins. What the watch symbolizes escapes me, but the coins indicate the groom will always provide for his bride. Charlie took the trouble to ask the priest back in Monterey what tradition calls for. You are marrying a man who shows you and your family great respect."

I spoke quickly, trying to get out my prepared speech without stuttering. "I will never let you down or bring dishonor to your name, Don Topo."

It sounded awkward, but I had managed to blurt it out pretty much the way I intended. I felt better for having said it.

I had a speech ready for Lucinda as well, but when I turned toward her, the icy look in her pale blue eyes was like flying knives—and my mind went blank.

Lucinda regarded us for a moment then said in a mocking whisper, "That was a very touching speech, Charlie. Since he thinks so highly of you why don't the two of you get married?"

At that moment, one of the altar boys popped into the room and announced they were ready for us.

I don't remember much of the ceremony, other than that I had to kneel down, get up and kneel back down countless times. There were many incantations said over us. As it was all in Latin, I understood little of it. The heavily scented candles made my eyes burn, making the ceremony seem like it lasted forever.

Finally, it was over, and dinner was served for the wedding party.

At one point I caught her fingering the coins I had given her. She saw me watching her, and for once she looked at me with curiosity rather than malice.

"Why didn't you make me shoes?" she asked, referring to the Spanish wedding tradition of the groom making a pair of shoes for the bride.

"I didn't have time," I replied, wanting to add that she had gotten knocked up so suddenly it threw everybody's schedule into disarray. There seemed no reason to get slapped, so I bit my tongue.

"You didn't have time? Perhaps you didn't have anyone who cares enough to teach you?" she asked in a taunting voice, her smile as cold as mountain sleet.

I breathed in all the despair the world had to offer.

"You're right," I replied with a weak smile and a sinking heart. "I didn't have anyone who cared enough to teach me."

Lucinda walked behind a table and picked up a set of three books. She handed them to me. "Here is your wedding present from me. They are reading primers, and a book on addition and subtraction. They were written for small children, so you may understand them. You are to learn both of these subjects. It won't do for me to be married to an illiterate. At least learn how to write your name so that when I tell you to sign something, you can do it without embarrassing me."

After the wedding party, Lucinda and I took a carriage to a nearby hotel. Don Topo had felt it would cause less comment if she and I had separate rooms at a hotel rather than having me staying with him at the Mission.

As we made our way through the hotel doors, I caught a glimpse of our reflections in the window. With her strong Castilian face, striking blue eyes, and erect carriage, Lucinda was a breathtaking woman. Her well-defined breasts had started to swell from the pregnancy, and her face glowed. I looked at myself, and all I could see were the pimples on my cheeks and a suit that didn't fit.

"Tiburcio made a mistake by not returning to Monterey," I said, with as much kindness as I could manage. The strange thing was, I meant it. She was so beautiful it was hard to get the words out.

Lucinda looked at me with surprise, and then her eyes narrowed. Perhaps she didn't credit my sincerity, for when she spoke her voice was venomous. "By the time I get done with you, Charlie Horn, I won't be the only one who wishes Tiburcio had taken me with him."

Then she turned on her heels and marched off to her room.

It was an awful end to a terrible day. I supposed there may have been a sadder couple on their wedding night, but it was hard to imagine.

Scent of Tears

# Chapter Eight

The year following the wedding disaster in San Francisco was, for me, an enjoyable one. Don Topo assigned me to improve the ground he controlled at the far end of the Chualar Canyon. Always progressive in his land management, Don Topo wanted some spring boxes constructed. Spring boxes allowed the cattle to utilize the country better during the dry months because the boxes gathered the water from a seep and let it fill until it ran into a pipe that was directed toward a trough. Without a spring box the spring would be trampled into a mud hole. Don Topo also desired a vaquero camp to be built where the crews could keep their horses during the yearly rodeos.

The portly little patriarch had a fine understanding of human motivation. He spent a day riding the country with me, explaining what kind of vegetation to look for when locating springs. He never gave specific orders, but rather talked in general terms about how to build a spring box, where to construct the water troughs, and what kind of wood was suitable for making the pipe that would carry water from the spring to the trough. He left saying that he knew I'd construct enough spring boxes to double the amount of cattle the country would carry.

I worked much harder under the burden of his expectation than I would have following specific orders.

Building a spring box was back-breaking work. If you built the spring box too far down in the draw, the winter rains would wash it out; but the higher you went in the draw or on the side of the hill, the more rocks you encountered. Many a site was abandoned because the larger boulders kept me from digging a sufficiently deep enough hole to locate the box.

By the time I was done, I knew the country better than the cattle who were born there. I'd spent so much time out in the canyons with my pick and shovel, I had names for the blisters on my hands as well as for the three hawks that patrolled the area.

Don Topo also wanted a camp garden established that would provide a cheaper way to feed the vaquero crew. To this end, he assigned me an Indian woman to start a vegetable garden, and also instructed me to fence a small pasture for horses. The jewel of this ranch improvement was an anvil, bellows and blacksmith tools so there was a way to make hinges, shoe horses and construct wagon parts instead of going to town.

A wagon load of rough-cut lumber and posts arrived every week for a month to supply the fence crew Don Topo hired from Monterey. They fenced off three acres and built a lean-to shed as well as a dirt-floor cabin with a wooden-shake roof.

After the cabin was completed, a cook stove was delivered. The high point of our construction effort was when a set of iron hinges arrived for the door. I felt very proud of them, because most dwellings during that time had either rawhide hinges on the door or no door at all—just cowhide hanging over the entrance.

The old Indian woman, Genero and I were the only full-time inhabitants at the Chualar Camp, as we came to call it. After the improvements were made and the various spring boxes were developed, Genero began traveling to the other ranchos owned by Don Topo to help with the cattle while I stayed in the Chualar country, pulling cattle out of bogs, putting out salt and shoeing horses. I also tried to keep track of where the cattle were and how many were being stolen.

Stolen cattle could be replaced easily, but our forge and anvil could not, and they were what really concerned me. The forge and anvil had been ordered from Boston and brought around the horn on a sailing ship. Even the coal that heated the metal had been brought from the other side of the globe.

There was a saying, "No iron, no hoof; no hoof, no horse," and so I was very protective of our primitive blacksmith shop. Don Topo assured me that a forge and anvil were only attractive to someone who liked to work, and thieves don't like to work. But I wasn't so sure, so whenever I was gone from the camp for a long time I was constantly nervous someone might steal them.

I went into Monterey several times a month to buy bags of coffee, salt and other essentials. I also bought salt for the cattle, because it was a way to control where the cattle made their range.

There was a heavy freight wagon available, but the road to the Chualar Camp was very steep and it made of sense to pack in supplies rather that use the wagon. Anyway in the winter, the creeks were too swollen to cross with a wagon. My horse herd had, with Don Topo's blessing, grown to ten geldings and three mares. Of course, that wasn't counting Luna, who I considered more of a relative than a horse.

It gentled the young horses to have supplies packed on them. Packing them also gave me plenty of motive to make sure they were tame, because if I spilled the supplies, I went without.

When in Monterey, I would stay with Don Topo and his family, and visit a little with Lucinda and her baby. Lucinda made a show of greeting me to keep up the pretense that we were husband and wife, but it was all for appearance's sake. When no one was around, she gave me the same cold shoulder she had shown me since I was a child. I still slept behind the door to the root cellar.

The child was named Patricio, but she called him Patty. He had curly black hair and black eyes with incredibly long eyelashes. He was a happy baby, and I imagined I could see Don Topo in him.

Upon my return to Chualar Camp from one of these trips, I was alarmed to see a gaunt gray horse standing tied to the oak tree in front of the cabin. The horse was covered with dried sweat and wore an unfamiliar brand. I was distressed to see two rifles resting in scabbards on either side of the horse. I never went armed, except for a hunting knife. A heavy pistol or shotgun got in the way of catching cattle. To burden a horse that had been ridden as hard as the gray gelding with the weight of two rifles seemed outlandish. I hadn't seen a saddle horse weighted down with this much armament since the last time I saw Tiburcio Vasquez sitting in the dark.

I slowly opened the heavy plank door to the cabin and peered into the dim interior. Stretched out on the bed was a man dressed in black boots, black pants and a black cape, which he had wrapped around his body. His hat was adorned with a heavy silver band.

Without stirring from his prone position or even looking at me he said, "Who are you?"

"Who are you?" I replied, putting my hand on my knife. At that the figure shifted around so he could see me.

"Charlie, it is I, Tiburcio. How have you been, my friend?" He slowly rose from the bed, swung his feet to the floor and stood up. He'd been sleeping with a pistol in his hand, and he stuck the weapon back in his sash and took an enormous stretch. His beard was longer and thicker than I remembered, but other than that he had not changed.

"I have nothing of value here, Tiburcio. Only supplies and a little food, which you are welcome to."

"Nailing one board to a frame doesn't make you a carpenter, but steal one horse and you are a horse thief for life," Tiburcio said in a pleasant voice. "I am not here to relieve you of anything. As far as you having nothing of value, your friendship is of great value to me. We have a history together, and it looks like we will continue to cross paths. To celebrate our friendship, I have brought you a gift. But first, could I impose on you to make me some coffee? I rode all night and I'm worn out."

I put some kindling in the iron stove and lit it, then drew some water from the well and put it on the stove to boil. After I unsaddled my horse and unloaded the pack saddle from the other horse, I returned to the cabin. The water was boiling and Tiburcio was leaning against the wall as he watched the water bubble.

Tiburcio walked out of the cabin then sat down on a stool. He leaned back against the wall. With a kind of dandyish elegance, he removed a toothpick from his vest and examined it like a man would examine a fine cigar before putting it between his teeth.

I came out and handed him his coffee. He blew on it before taking a sip.

"Gracias."

"De nada."

The porch was the latest addition to the cabin. It was made of rough cut blanks I had scrounged from the fencing crew. It made a great place to sit in the evenings.

"Go get the rifle in the near-side scabbard, Charlie."

It occurred to me that he had come into my house uninvited, slept on my bed without taking off his boots, and was now ordering me about my own establishment. However, the tone of his voice was so friendly and his air of command so complete that I barely hesitated before I went out to his horse and got the rifle.

"What you're holding in your hand is a Volition Rifle. It's one of the first functional repeating rifles to come to Monterey. You must always keep it clean or it will jam, but as long as it's carefully maintained, you can depend on it."

"What does this have to do with me?"

"It's a wedding gift, Charlie. It's a gesture of friendship from me to you. I was very impressed when you came to our camp and asked for your mare back. You are fearless, and it's always worthwhile to associate with people of courage. I brought you a box of ammunition as well. After I finish my coffee, we can walk down to the flat and I'll show you how to shoot. My ability as a poet and dancer are only exceeded by my marksmanship."

It was an arrogant thing to say, but it didn't sound like it coming from Tiburcio. It sounded like he was making fun of himself.

I examined the rifle in my hands. I'd never owned one before. Don Topo provided food and supplies for his employees, but he drew the line at buying them firearms and liquor.

Being hungry from my ride I took some hanging jerky from the cupboard and then heated four tortillas from the stack left by the old Indian woman. I wrapped the jerky with the warm tortillas, and divided the food onto two plates. Without further conversation, we finished our repast.

After the meal and another cup of coffee, Tiburcio climbed slowly to his feet and walked off the porch to his horse.

"Do you want to water your horse?" I asked.

"You may water him after I leave."

I started to ask what he was going to leave on, then realized I'd just been informed of a horse trade.

"Will there be a group of men with weapons riding up and asking me where I got him from?" I asked.

"He isn't stolen, Charlie. He just needs a little rest. I have a bill of sale for him from a Mexican who raises gray horses near the Tejon Pass. Every time I ride to Los Angeles, I stop and buy a horse from him. His horses are well bridled and expensive, but he gives me a good price, because, after all, would he prefer to sell them to me, or have me steal them?"

Tiburcio took a box of cartridges from his saddlebags and gestured for me to follow him.

We walked away from the cabin, down the hill into the flat. Tiburcio picked out a tree, took the silk scarf from his neck, and tied it onto a low-hanging branch. Any bullets that hit the scarf would move it.

That afternoon, he taught me how to shoot the rifle. First he demonstrated, explaining to me in low, confident tones how to control my breathing and how to gently squeeze the trigger until the rifle fired. I'd never seen Tiburcio dance, and thankfully he'd never written me any poetry, but he was a first-rate shot, no error. He was patient with his instruction, and when we were done I was a much better shot than I had been when the lesson began.

Afterward, on our way back up the hill to the cabin, I caught a sorrel gelding for Tiburcio. The horse had white stockings and a wide white blaze running down his face, and he looked better than he was, but Tiburcio was only using him to get from one place to the next. I figured he didn't need to take a better horse. Besides, his gray horse looked used up, perhaps even broken down, so I felt no shame trading Tiburcio the low end of my saddle horses.

"Could you draw me up a bill of sale for your horse, if it isn't too much trouble?" he asked.

I confessed to not having any paper, only the receipt from the dry goods store in Monterey.

"That will do," Tiburcio said, and went to get a quill pen from his saddlebag.

He wrote out the bill of sale with my name at the bottom and then presented it to me to sign. I'd been taught how to sign my name but didn't know how to read well enough to know what the bill of sale said. For all I knew, I was signing over the rancho.

Don Topo had sent a tutor to stay at the camp several months prior with instructions to teach me to read. Topo's thinking was that I could be of much more use to him if I were literate. However, although I attended to my lessons in the evenings after each day in the saddle, the tallow candles didn't illuminate the lessons very well. The tutor, a dandy from Spain, only stayed a week before the scorpions, ticks and rattlesnakes drove him back to Monterey. About all I had learned was how to pronounce the alphabet and sign my name.

Nevertheless, I figured it didn't matter so I scratched out what passed for my signature.

"This pretty sorrel horse isn't going to buck me off, is he?" Tiburcio asked. He looked out in the pasture at my other geldings, as if he might prefer a different horse.

"I'd tell you if he had any bad habits. Besides, nothing here on the ranch would present a challenge to a renowned horseman such as yourself."

A smile passed over his face, and he took his rig off the gray gelding and saddled my sorrel. He put his bit in the horse's mouth, then holding the reins moved the horse into a circle. It was something a rider did to limber a horse up when they didn't know or trust a horse. Tiburcio spoke quietly to the sorrel, then mounted.

"You aren't intending to shoot me in the back when I ride away, are you, Charlie? We all appreciate irony but... I give you a rifle, help you with your marksmanship, and then you shoot me."

"Why would I do that?"

"Who knows? Worse things have been done in the name of love. I hear Lucinda's child is mine. But you are aware of the circumstances: I was with her before Don Topo arranged your marriage, so I have shown you no disrespect. Still, logical thought isn't always around when a beautiful woman like Lucinda is concerned." Tiburcio reined the horse around and then paused.

"Lucinda is as dangerous as she is beautiful," he said. "A man, even a man such as myself, needs to be careful around her. I know she was disappointed in me after I left her in the family way and became engaged to Anastacio's sister. If I attempted to become intimate with her again, she'd cut my throat and drink my blood to avenge the insult. I assure you, I pose no threat to your marriage."

"I wasn't thinking about shooting you in the back. I do wonder, why you don't become a vaquero? It's an enjoyable occupation to me, and California is a big place. Life on the run must get old."

"I often ask myself that very question, Charlie. The outlaw life loses its charm, especially in the winter when it rains. It seems I stay wet for months, and the pisano's food, though it is given to me with love, is often of poor quality. I don't enjoy sleeping on the ground either."

Tiburcio shifted in the saddle, then twisted his torso to see what the horse would do. For a daredevil bandit, he was careful with himself. Satisfied the horse wasn't going to buck he continued on.

"If I did decide to quit my life as a bandit, Monterey isn't the place to do it. There are too many hard feelings over what happened the night Hardmount was killed. I've never killed a man, but if I stay around Monterey, I might be forced to start."

"California is a big place, Tiburcio."

He reined the horse around both ways. The horse wrung his tail, then responded in an adequate, if less than enthusiastic, manner.

"I like to visit with you, Charlie. Why don't you ride with me to the main road?"

"The horse won't buck, if that's what you're thinking."

"I trust you. I just like to have someone halfway intelligent to talk to. It's a long horseback ride from here to Santa Rosa. Ride a ways with me and we can visit."

I was tired from my trip to Monterey and craved a nap. However, Tiburcio had brought me a present, so I caught another horse and saddled up.

We'd only gone half a mile when I chanced to see the most amazing feat of agility and physical prowess I'd ever seen. We were walking our horses down the narrow trail that led back to the road, discussing the merits of different types of riggings for saddles. Tiburcio was ahead of me, partially turned in the saddle to emphasize a point he was making. Suddenly a coyote burst out of the dense brush and snapped at Tiburcio's new horse. The startled horse dropped his head and went to bucking, catching Tiburcio off-guard and throwing him into the air. As Tiburcio sailed through the air, arms and legs flailing for balance, he drew his pistol and shot the coyote dead. He landed in a crouch, pistol in hand.

We looked at each other for a second... and then Tiburcio smiled, straightened up, and put the pistol back into its holster.

"You assured me the horse didn't buck."

For a moment my heart went into my throat, but then the outlaw smiled.

"No telling what a horse will try and do when something tries to bite him," I said, letting out a breath. "I've never seen a coyote act that way."

Tiburcio walked over and peered down at the dead animal. He prodded the coyote's shoulder, near where his bullet had gone through its lungs.

"Perhaps the animal was rabid. See how his ribs are sticking out?"

The riderless horse was standing a short ways away. I trotted around him, gathered up the reins and led him back to Tiburcio, grateful that the horse hadn't stepped on the reins and bent the bit.

Tiburcio looked the horse over carefully to see if he had suffered a bite. After a moment, he climbed back on, then looked at me and smiled.

"You got the better of me on this horse trade, Charlie. That doesn't happen often. Adios, my friend." He touched the sorrel with his spurs. The horse gave a jump, Tiburcio gave a little laugh, and then without further ado gave the horse his head and trotted off`.

I'd never seen a man draw and fire a pistol with such accuracy standing still, let alone while he was flying through the air. I was starting to understand why the much more physically imposing Anastacio Garcia had let Tiburcio give me back the my horses that night at the outlaws' camp. A man who can shoot with such accuracy from any position doesn't invite serious argument.

Scent of Tears

# Chapter Nine

Several days later, just before dawn, there was a terrible ruckus behind the lean-to that held the grain and blacksmithing tools. The two mongrel dogs living at the camp barked and howled like demons. I came out of the dirt floor cabin with my wedding-present rifle and chambered a round.

A very large, black shadow moved up the draw behind the camp, rattling the brush. It didn't move like a cow and it was bigger than a mountain lion. A thrill ran up my spine. The only thing left that would appear as big as a wagon was a bear.

Genero came out of the lean-to where he slept, pulling the cord that held up his pants. He stopped next to me and put his hand on the gun barrel.

"In this light, you might not get a clear shot. Let's make some coffee. When the sun rises, we'll look for tracks and see what we're after."

It turned out that we were after a large grizzly bear. Genero picked up the track and seemed astonished at the size of the print.

"What a magnificent animal. He must weigh two thousand pounds," Genero said. I felt my butt pucker.

Grizzlies were not prevalent in the area, so I'd never seen one before. The size of the claw marks caused me to grip my rifle hard enough my hand ached.

"This is one big bear. He maybe stands up two feet taller than you," Genero said.

I was secretly relieved when, after following the tracks for three miles, Genero called a halt to our hunt. He said he believed the bear was leaving and if we valued out health we should let him go.

"He is headed out of our range, Charlie. I thought for a minute he might be doubling back, but I don't think so."

This offhand comment caused me to turn around to look behind me in such panic I nearly fell. As I spun, my rifle barrel swung in Genero's direction. He put a calming hand on my shoulder.

"Why did he come here?" I asked, trying to sound confident and manly rather than scared.

"From now on, we bury our garbage," Genero said in way of an answer.

"You think he will come back?" I asked.

"Bears don't like dogs barking at them. Let's hope he was just passing through. A bear that size can only be a grizzly. Maybe you shoot a grizzly six or seven times but he keeps on coming. We leave him alone, and hope he leaves us alone."

We walked back to the camp and brewed some more coffee. Genero was much calmer than I was, but the stoic old Indian was still thinking about the bear.

"I have been told that if you run up to a bear they will rise up on their back legs and embrace you with their front paws. If you get your head close enough to their neck so they can't bite you, it is possible to stab them to death."

"I worry enough about getting bucked off a horse. I'd rather not try stabbing a bear," I replied.

Genero's talk about killing a bear with a knife made the rifle Tiburcio had given me was even more appreciated than before. Grizzlies were known to kill calves, but unless Genero and I found a carcass, I wouldn't hunt it. Few things were more dangerous to a man than a wounded predator in a brushy canyon.

And one of those more dangerous things arrived at the ranch that same morning.

At around nine, Genero called to me and pointed out someone approaching. It was Lucinda, driving up in a wagon pulled by a team of fine bay horses. She was accompanied by Gotch-Eyed Juan, as Don Topo's personal bodyguard was known. Juan was mounted on a horse and riding alongside the wagon. A tall, well-kept black stallion was tied to the back.

Without any sort of a greeting, Lucinda pulled a sealed envelope from a pocket in her skirt and looked at me. She was dressed in a short jacket over a ruffled white blouse. She wore buckskin gloves on her hands, a flat-brimmed hat on her head and a stern look on her face.

"Have you learned to read well enough to understand a letter from my father?" she asked.

Since no one answered her, Lucinda slit the envelope open with a fingernail and read it silently to herself. After doing so, she fixed Gotch-Eyed Juan with a stare until he reined his horse over to the wooden water trough some distance from the cabin.

Genero got the hint and walked over to the lean-to where the sacks of grain were stored.

"My dear Charlie," Lucinda said, reading from the letter as she sat in the wagon. "May this letter find you in good health. Lucinda is coming to pay you a visit. Her little one is old enough to get along for a few days without her, so she will spend a week with you and then return to Monterey. All my love and respect, Topo."

Lucinda shook her head, frowned and folded the paper, slipping it back into the envelope and handing the envelope to me.

"What my father meant to say was, my mother thinks it is her duty to run my life. Our screaming became too loud for my father to tolerate, so he ordered me to come stay with you for a while. If he hadn't sent that cross-eyed ex-soldier with me, I would have gone to the Mission to join in the feast they are holding, but...." She used her thumb to indicate the bodyguard and sighed with annoyance.

"We're glad to have you. I wish we had advance notice you were coming," I said, taking a stab at gentility. I would have cleaned the cabin if I'd known she was paying a visit, rather than risk her judgment on my personal hygiene.

"I brought food from Monterey. What do you eat around here anyway?"

I started to tell her about the wild onions, corn and tomatoes, but she ignored me and climbed down from the wagon. In the back of the wagon were canned food and dried fruit. I helped carry the food into the cabin.

Later that night, after Genero had gone back to his lean-to, Lucinda told me that I should figure out a way to level the wagon, since that was where I was going to sleep.

"I'll sleep wherever you want," I replied, "but check your boots in the morning. Scorpions often crawl inside."

I stood wondering how anybody could be so heartbreakingly beautiful. Her flawless skin, her comely figure and crystal blue eyes made me afraid my mouth might accidentally fall open.

"There had better not be scorpions around that bed," she said, in a way that let me know she would hold me responsible if there were.

I was momentarily rendered mute by Lucinda's presence. Without saying anything further, I walked outside to sleep in the wagon.

When I entered the cabin the next morning, Lucinda had made a fire in the stove and was watching an iron fry pan to gauge when it was hot enough to fry the eggs she'd brought. When she thought the pan was hot enough, she cracked an egg.

It was spring, so the shutter was open on the glass window. Luna, my personable roan mare, peered in through the window and silently stuck her head through to inspect the bucket of grain I kept for her in the corner.

Oblivious to the horse, Lucinda picked up the skillet and turned around, almost bumping into Luna's nose. She screamed, dropped the pan, and ran into my arms. I felt the weight of her breasts bump my chest.

We stood there for several seconds before Lucinda released herself and started cursing at the mare, swinging her arms wildly as she drove the surprised horse back from the opening. She reached down, picked up the skillet from the floor, and glared at me before going back to fixing the eggs, seemingly embarrassed that she had been frightened by the horse.

I stood there savoring the moment.

"You are more of a barbarian than I thought if you have horses sticking their heads into the kitchen," Lucinda said, shaking her head.

After frying some toast in the grease from the eggs, she put the food on two plates and sat down at the table to eat.

I found myself being very careful not to spill my coffee or drop part of my eggs on the floor because concentration was so difficult with her sitting across from me.

"I kept the coins you gave me, Charlie. Considering your lack of education and your station in life, it was a nice thing to do," she said with her customary manner of mixing a compliment with a slap.

"How is your baby doing?" I asked. It was a strange experience sitting at a table with my wife, talking like regular people. Of course, the fact that her baby was by another man kept it from being completely normal.

"He is teething so there is no sleep. The maid seems to love him, which is good because she is the one who changes his diapers. He is blessed with Tiburcio's eyes, which helps me to endure the drooling and runny nose he seems to be perpetually cursed with."

"And Don Topo? How is he?"

"Off trying to keep what we have from being confiscated by the tax collector. People in California are taxed on the land they own, not the money they have. It is a tax designed to take the land that rightfully belongs to the Californio and give it to the Yankees. We are probably one year with no rain away from losing everything. Because I am a woman, my father thinks I don't know all this."

She sipped her coffee. Most women I had seen while living in Monterey put on weight on after they gave birth, but Lucinda's waist was as trim as before she had become pregnant. I sighed.

"Are you wondering what will happen if there are no more Topo Ranches for you to work on? Your sacrifice for my father will become pointless if he loses the ranchos."

"Being able to help Don Topo is no sacrifice," I replied, and was rewarded with an appraising look rather than the usual cutting sarcasm.

After we ate breakfast, Lucinda announced that I could show her around the ranch. I agreed, and we went out and saddled our horses.

Luna stood behind an oak tree a ways off, her feelings obviously hurt from being yelled at. Lucinda was riding a stallion, so I caught a serviceable, if common looking, gelding.

As I saddled him, Lucinda appraised me.

"My father is right. You really aren't that homely. If someone were to shave off the peach fuzz you have growing on your face and give you a haircut and a bath, you might even be handsome. In Monterey, all the little girls would be giggling behind their fans when you walked by."

"Are you feeling all right? I'm not used to you saying anything nice to me."

"I will give you a shave the next time I come to visit," she said. "We will see if your wit is as forthcoming with a straight-edged razor dancing around your throat."

We mounted our horses and rode out into the bright morning light at a trot. Though I was familiar with the country, Lucinda led the way until we topped a ridge. As always, she moved as if she was as one with the horse. Her riding was almost a form of poetry.

We sat on our horses overlooking the flat where five head of steers were peacefully grazing. Lucinda stood up in her stirrups and stretched.

She pointed at the steers, and her eyes seemed to brighten. "If we can ease down to the flat without the cattle hearing us, we'll have enough space to run up on them," she whispered.

"Why would we need space to run up on them?" I asked, immediately alarmed.

"Haven't you ever tailed a steer?"

I wondered how to respond in a way that wouldn't dampen Lucinda's good mood. It was only the second or third time I had ever seen her happy, and it was a warm place.

"Do you even know what tailing a steer is?" she asked impatiently.

I sat up straighter in the saddle.

"All vaqueros know what tailing a steer is, though it is a stupid sport," I replied. A steer would be let out of a small pen and chased down a fence. The vaquero would lean down, pick up the running animals tail and dally the tail hair around his saddle horn. Throwing his stirrup leather over the tail, the vaquero would then rein his horse sharply to the left, spurring past the steer. Keeping the tail dallied to the horn caused the steer to lose his balance and fall. That was the hoped for outcome. Sometimes the rider's saddle would slip from the weight of the steer and the horse would start bucking. This particular pastime was only done during fiestas and the participants were nearly always made brave by spirits.

Grabbing a cow's tail to knock it down was a dangerous when done on flat ground. Out in the open country in bordered on lunacy.

I watched Lucinda study the steers standing in the flat and saw where this was leading.

"Why would we tail one of your father's steers?"

Lucinda wrapped her reins around the saddle horn. She dropped her head and let out a big sigh, then lifted her head toward the sky as if God himself might make this clear to me.

"We are going to tail a steer, Charlie, because it's a beautiful spring day, our horses are fresh and a person is only young once."

"So, we are going to risk damaging a valuable steer for no good reason?"

In the middle of my speech, Lucinda had moved off down toward the cattle.

She stood up in her stirrups and loped smoothly down the hill. When the cattle scattered, Lucinda broke the stallion into a run and moved up behind one of the spotted steers. With surprising ease, she leaned down, grabbed the steer's tail, and trapped the tail with her leg. Giving a loud yell, she drove her magnificent black horse past the bovine, spilling the steer onto the ground.

Lucinda slowed the big stallion down to a trot, circled around, and rode back up the hill. She reined him around to face me.

"See, Charlie? Everybody survived." She turned and, with a dramatic flourish, pointed down at the steer, which was now trotting off after his friends. "The steer is fine, I'm fine. My stallion is fine. Why don't you see if you can do it? Put some color into your cheeks."

"The steers have run off into the brush."

"Are you not mounted on a good Topo Ranch horse? Are you not a skilled vaquero? You saw where they went. Ride around the ridge, gather them back to the flat, and tail one of the steers."

There was another long moment of silence, and then Lucinda erupted, "Do you think I want to be married to a man who has no spirit and no courage? For once could you do something for the joy of it? I am using your last name now, Charlie. Do you want me to be ashamed of that?"

It was the first time Lucinda had mentioned our marriage or called me a man. I had no desire to break my neck, but her comment was like a slap in the face. With the deep groaning sound a man makes when he is about to do something pointless and foolhardy, I gathered up my horse and moved down the ridge line to get around the steers.

After five minutes of hard riding through the trees, I managed to break one the steer free of the brush and got him headed back into the flat.

This steer didn't run in a straight line the way Lucinda's did. Every time I got close enough to grab his tail, he veered off. I would spur my poor gelding up close and the steer would change directions again. My gelding was trained to run to the steer's hip and rate, waiting for me to cast my lariat around the animal's neck. The horse was unsure about running up close enough for me to grab the steer's tail.

The steer ran under my horse's neck and, for a stumbling, hoof-clicking second, the whole tangle of horse, cow and rider nearly went to earth. From the corner of my eye, I saw Lucinda bring her black stallion alongside the steer at a high gallop to block him from moving away from me.

The steer slowed down as he ran out of air, and I saw my chance. I leaned off the side of my horse and made a grab for the steer's tail with my right hand. As I bent down, I saw a snake lying coiled up directly in our path. My horse saw the snake at the same time and made a frantic leap over the rattler just as it struck. I was holding the saddle horn with my left hand and stayed in the saddle. What proved my undoing was my horse, distracted by the snake, the horse stepped in a gopher hole. There was a sharp crack and he fell to the ground, throwing me over his head before tumbling over and landing with his entire weight on my back.

After that everything went black.

I woke up in the bed made of wood and rawhide straps at the vaquero camp. Coming to, I felt the urge to throw up.

Lucinda was sitting on the bed. When she saw I was about to get sick, she grabbed my hat and held it under my chin. I tried to roll over, thinking I would rather puke on the floor than on Lucinda and screamed with pain. Something seemed broken in my lower back. I passed out again.

When I came to the second time, I managed to lie there without the nausea causing me to gag. Someone had taken off my boots and spurs. I tried to wiggle my toes, but the pain in my spine burned so brightly that I nearly cried. I would have, if Lucinda hadn't been watching.

"It's good you can move your toes, Charlie," Lucinda said. "It means you will be able to walk again. Genero and I thought perhaps the horse had severed your spine when he rolled on you."

I tried to turn my head, cried loudly with pain, and passed out again.

When I awoke the next time, Genero was sitting on a stool by my bed. A tallow candle illuminated the small room. He offered me a gourd of water, but when I reached for it the pain ran from my neck to my hip with such ferocity that I gently put my hand back down on the blanket.

Genero stood up and held the gourd to my lips until I swallowed a few sips of water. He patiently kept the gourd where I could drink until I had enough.

"Where's Lucinda?" I asked.

"She rode back to Monterey to fetch a doctor, although I have never seen any doctor do much with a broken back."

The black spots were swimming before my eyes. I concentrated on taking shallow breaths, because a deep breath was going to cause me to lose control of my bladder.

"What happened to the horse?" I asked.

"He snapped his back leg and couldn't get up. After she got you free of him, the blue-eyed witch took your knife and cut the horse's throat. I think she also killed the rattlesnake, because I found a snake without its head a little ways from where you fell."

Genero took a gourd and drank some water.

"After she got done killing things, she found some branches and built a shelter over your face so you wouldn't be burnt by the sun. Then she walked three miles back to the cabin and loaded some water jugs in the spring board. She was hitching the horse to the wagon when I rode up. We loaded you into the wagon and brought you to the cabin."

"Her name is Lucinda. Please don't call her a blue-eyed witch."

"As you wish, Charlie," he said with a hushed tone.

"Where is Don Topo's gunman?"

"Juan rode back to Monterey after you and the," Genero paused. "After you and your wife went riding."

The following evening, Lucinda returned to the camp. She burst into the room and glared at Genero until he excused himself. Then, without bothering to ask how I was feeling, she launched into a monologue concerning her trip. In the dimming light, her face looked gaunt and burned by the sun. I could see the exhaustion in her shoulders and arms; however, her willpower was such that she kept any hint of exhaustion out of her voice.

"There are two doctors in Monterey. One has gone to San Francisco, and the other was so drunk I couldn't make him understand what I wanted. My father wasn't in town, which is the case more often than not these days. So I went to the Chinese part of town and got you some opium for the pain. I think you should stay here. It could damage you more to lie in the back of the wagon for the thirty miles to Monterey. Besides, there weren't any sober doctors in Monterey when I left, and there's no promise there will be if we go back. So, you chew on the opium I brought you, and if you don't die tonight, tomorrow I will teach you to read."

"The first and only time I drank wine it made me sick. What's opium going to do to me?"

"Your pain will go away, and the bed will become a cloud."

I held out my hands, and Lucinda dropped the brown ball into my palms.

"How do I know what this really is?" I asked.

"It's not a dog turd, Charlie. You may have had reason to mis-trust me in the past, but I did ride to Monterey and get you something for your pain. A sixty-mile horseback ride just to play a joke on you is too much, even for me."

I put it into my mouth, and Lucinda picked up the gourd of water and handed it to me. The opium had a musty, bitter taste. I choked some down and relaxed back onto the bed.

"What's your father going to say when he finds out I broke his horse's leg?"

When Lucinda answered, she sounded tentative, like she was worried herself. "He won't care about his horse. He'll be worried about you. He values you, though I am not exactly sure why."

I tried to shift my weight on the bed, but the pain was too bright. I fought back a yelp.

"When father finds out I have taught you to read, he will be pleased with both of us."

Lucinda moved to the bed and sat down. She leaned over and took my hand. Then she leaned forward and kissed my forehead. I felt dizzy, either from the opium or the close proximity of her breasts and feeling her lips touch my skin.

Lucinda sat quietly with me for ten minutes, until I did feel the bed become a cloud. She looked out the open window at the moonlight as it illuminated the oak trees.

"I worry that I was born too late to really enjoy life. If I had been born fifty years ago, I could have lived in the Alto Sierra before it became contaminated by Yankee trash with their greed and avarice. Did you know that when the Spanish first came here, they used to rope grizzly bears? A caballęro would rope the neck and another would rope the hind legs, and together, they would choke the bear to death. Now that would have been a feat worthy of Spanish nobility."

As the opium fog took over, Lucinda's words stopped making much sense. I was so over whelmed by her sitting next to me I lost my fear.

"You are the most beautiful woman in Monterey," I said, my voice almost a whisper.

"Just Monterey, Charlie?" she said, and for the first time in her life she smiled at me with no taunt to accompany it, her fine white teeth and bright eyes illuminating the room.

I was thinking about how to reply when my eyes closed. My last thought was that it was fortunate that Lucinda hadn't seen the grizzly bear that morning, for she most certainly would have wanted to rope it.

Scent of Tears

# Chapter Ten

Lucinda did teach me to read. By the time she got done with her instruction, I still couldn't read very well, but enough to understand the basic reading primer she'd given me on our wedding day. It was fair progress to be made in a week. Lucinda had a unique way of encouraging fast learning.

One of the things she used as a teaching aid was moving my foot every time I made a mistake. I yelped like a scalded dog the first time she did it, but it got my attention. When I complained about the pain, she told me it would speed my recovery and help me concentrate on my lessons.

Whether it was this foot-manipulation as punishment for mistakes, or simply the passage of time, I was able to stand in two days and walk with the aid of a rough crutch by the end of the week. I still struggled and had a pronounced limp, but at least I could go outside to use the bathroom.

Having her hold a razor so near my jugular was unnerving at first, but her hands were very sure and precise. She lingered as she drew the razor's edge down my cheek, the light dancing in her eyes as she held my gaze.

"My mother says that men are like large dogs. They have little practical use around the house, they demand attention, and they must be disciplined lest they become unruly. Are you like a large dog, Charlie? Something that requires attention and care to keep you from pissing on the wagon wheels and shedding on the furniture?"

"I don't believe I need anything," I said, somewhat confused.

"Doing fine in your dirt-floor hovel, drinking out of gourds and living on meat and beans?"

"It suits me to live with my horses. The life of a vaquero is peaceful."

"You are primitive, Charlie, much like the wild cattle you hunt. Is it fair to say you could never live in town?"

I had the feeling that this was an important question. It left me bewildered. Lucinda knew I could live in a town, because we had lived in the same house in Monterey.

She walked out of the cabin, and came back with the last of the opium.

"Tell me the perfect day for you here at the Chualar Ranch," she said.

I thought about it for a minute.

"The sun would warm my face, my mount would act like a true spade bit horse. The other vaqueros would be in good spirits, with much laughter. If I needed to rope something, I would not miss."

"How fun you make it sound. Do you want to know what a day on the ranch would be for your wife? I would get up an hour before sunrise to try to find some dry wood to start the fire. Then I would go to the chicken shed and see if I could find any eggs. I would cut meat off the hanging carcass, and hope to find some that hadn't turned green yet. After building the fire, fixing breakfast and washing the dishes, I would be ready to start my day. I would spend another hour cleaning the stove and the floors where the vaqueros had tracked cow manure into the dining room. Were there children, the rest of the morning would be taken up with fetching water from the creek and washing and changing diapers. Fruit would need to be gathered and canned if I didn't want my family to come down with scurvy. I would haul more water from the creek so I could wash the stink and dirt out of everyone's clothes. By then it would be time to fetch wood, build a fire and start dinner. After dinner, while everyone else digested their food I would do the dishes and prepare for the next day. If I still had any energy I could try and school the children. My reprieve from this would be a monthly trip to church, if I had the energy."

She smiled like I should understand whatever it was she was trying to tell me.

"Most of the time, you would be gone working, and when you did get home you would be too tired to pay attention to me. On the few days when you were able to take a bath and weren't exhausted or absent, you would chase me around and try and put another baby in my belly."

She looked at me fiercely. I was at a loss for words.

"You understand," she said, "that I am not going to be trapped in some cabin, cooking and cleaning for everyone while you are out enjoying your horses."

"No one has asked you to do anything of the sort. Our marriage was not my idea." I must have really looked crestfallen, because she put her hand on my arm.

"It's too bad you are crippled. The moon is full, and it's a beautiful night."

I was getting more confused by the second.

"What does my being hurt have to do with the night being beautiful?"

"I don't think men are supposed to understand women. You have a strong body, Charlie, but a child's mind. I see from the way you are watching me that you will recover from your accident."

Lucinda slipped her fingernails inside my shirt, where they played along my chest. I had an unexpected and very strong urge to reach for her. However, I feared the shocking pain any sort of sudden movement would bring. Lucinda was a strong, active girl who might return my embrace but could just as easily grab me by my ankles and jerk me off the bed and onto the floor. I felt the warmth of the opium seeping into my body.

"My sisters tell me that when their husbands become aroused, the blood leaves their brains and they lose the power of speech. Is that true, Charlie? Can you still talk?"

I sensed she was mocking me, like she always did.

"Did Tiburcio's blood leave his brain the night you shaved him?" I asked.

Her nostrils flared and her eyes went dark.

"You were spying on me that night?"

"I was told to sleep in the guest house and saw you on my way there. I have never spied on you or anyone else."

To my surprise, Lucinda nodded and her anger seemed to die down.

"Seeing that must have bothered you, and yet you never told my mother or sisters. Perhaps my father is right about you. Are you my ally, Charlie?"

I slowly reached up and took her fingers in mine, feeling the soft skin on the back of her hand. Then the opium cloud lifted me away from my concerns, and my eyes closed.

"I am whatever you want me to be," I mumbled.

The last thing I remembered was the soft caress of Lucinda's fingers on my face.

The next morning when I awoke, she was gone.

I was not to see Lucinda again for some months. During that time the pain in my back lessened enough to walk. I started riding the older, gentle horses and going with Genero as he looked for cattle. In the beginning, I could only ride for a short while before the pain drove me back to the cabin, but eventually I was able to stay with Genero for the full day. It felt lonely at the cabin without Lucinda there, even though my chances for a long life were better.

Four months after her visit, I received orders from Don Topo to round up what yearling heifers I could and meet him at the ranch outside of Monterey. It took many weeks to gather the cattle and sort off the heifers. The heifers I did find proved difficult to drive. If Genero hadn't been with me, I never would have gotten anything gathered at all.

The morning I arrived, Don Topo joined us as we went to work separating more heifers off a large set of cattle he had in a holding field.

All morning Don Topo had kept busy pointing out the heifers he wanted to sort off. I didn't understand why he was separating the first calf heifers from the herd. Once the heifers produced a calf they would be more valuable. I didn't question the little fat man but spent the morning enjoying how responsive and broke Luna was.

"Why do you waste your time on a mare?" Don Topo asked me later in the morning.

"She is a very fine horse," I replied. Had anyone but Topo asked me that question I would have found it insulting. Luna had filled out and now had a powerful hip and the well-developed forelegs of a mature horse who was accustomed and conditioned to working in steep country. Don Topo's horse by contrast looked like a boat. The white gelding was slow-moving and lazy. He was an old man's horse, meaning he was quite gentle. I would not have ridden him.

It was a crisp morning. There had been a brief early fall rain and the ground was soft and free of dust. Several times during the work, Luna slid her hooves in the dirt while preventing a heifer from returning to the herd. The marks looked like the number eleven. Having a horse that stopped hard enough to make the elevens was a matter of pride with vaqueros. Every time she did it I sat taller in the saddle.

I was riding Luna in an artistically braided rawhide jaquima that Genero had made for me. Luna was refined enough in her response to deserve the finely woven artwork that hung on her nose but I could have ridden her with a silk thread. She was quick in her reaction to the rein or spur, and seemed to know what the cattle were going to do before they did it. She worked as an extension of my thoughts in sorting off the cattle that needed to be separated.

"You have done a good job with her, but she's a mare. You own some nice geldings. Wouldn't one of them work as well?"

"She plays with a cow the way a cat plays with a mouse," I replied. "She is perhaps the best horse I'll ever own. Certainly the only one I'll ever truly love."

"Geldings bring more money. In the end, Charlie, it all comes down to money. Given enough time, you will learn that."

"Why would money matter if she isn't for sale?"

Don Topo had told me many times that everything has a price, and I expected him to tell me that again, but he surprised me.

"I've never heard you brag on something before," he said.

"I never owned anything I thought worth bragging on."

"How many geldings do you have now?" he asked.

"Ten," I replied.

"I may need to request the use of your horses."

I was surprised and dismayed by this but tried to keep it out of my voice. "Of course, Jefe. Whatever I have is at your disposal."

Topo shifted in his saddle, then looked at the group of heifers that were being held up by the other vaqueros. I could see he was trying to get a count.

"We've separated off thirty-seven heifers, Jefe," I said.

"You have a very sharp eye, Charlie. You are probably wondering why I need your little set of horses? I have been selling the ranch horses to the mines. I got excited by the price these horses were bringing and sold off more than I should have. As a result, I am short of sound, serviceable saddle horses."

"I'm glad to help. Where do you want them delivered?" I asked, assuming that one of the ranchos needed them.

"I want you to take your geldings and four hundred of our heifers to Oregon," he replied.

I reached down and flexed Luna's head toward my knee with the bosal. Then I dropped the hackamore rope as Don Topo's words sank in.

"Oregon. Why Oregon?" I replied in alarm.

"Let's go to the house and have lunch," Topo said and turned back toward town. There obviously wasn't a short answer as to why I was being sent into the northern wilderness.

Don Topo kept his personal saddle horses at the barn one street away from the main house. There we gave our horses over to a crippled old man who was assigned to tend to the riding stock.

It was a short walk to the estancia. We settled into the chairs at the table, and both drained glasses of water.

Don Topo wiped the sweat from his brow with a silk scarf and began to expound about his plans in Oregon.

"We are now part of California, the newest state of the Union. As such, I am subject to taxes. As long as it rains and the cattle prices stay up at Butcher Town, all is well. However, if it doesn't rain or the cattle prices fall, we could lose what we have. These taxes are designed to take land from the Californio ranch owners."

Topo helped himself to one of the tomatoes sitting on a plate. He sliced it into sections and offered me one. I drank some more water, and helped myself to one of the warm tortillas a house servant had brought to the table. In a moment, she returned with a bowl of boiled beef to place inside the tortillas.

"Of course, I have tried to expand my interests into other areas beside cattle. I own a dry goods store east of Sutter's Fort, which has done very well. I am trying to protect my holdings, to be careful for our future. These are perilous times, Charlie. I want some of our cattle in a place that will have feed if there is no rain falling here."

Since my marriage to Lucinda, Topo had taken to referring to the cattle as ours rather than his.

"I've never been to Oregon, Don Topo. In all truth, I'm not sure where it is."

"I have hired a reliable guide to meet you north of Yerba Buena. He will arrange grazing for the cattle and tell you where to buy supplies. But you must leave soon, so you can avoid the snows."

I must have looked confused.

"I have acquired land in a little valley that has good grass. I have been studying the records kept by the missions. No one knows for sure when, but we are due to have a drought in the next few years. Meanwhile, the ranchos have been increasing the size of their herds to satisfy the demand for meat in San Francisco and in the gold fields. The country has more cattle turned out than I have ever seen. If I am right and drought plagues the country soon, then most of the cattle in the Alto Sierra will die. When that happens, any cattle that remain will be worth a great deal."

"How many rivers do I have to cross?" I asked.

"A good question, but unfortunately I have no idea. When I went up the coast to trade for the ranch in Oregon, I went by ship, and then traveled inland. But I have every confidence in your ability to get the cattle where they need to go."

It seemed that the more difficult the task was, the more confidence Don Topo had in me, which was both flattering and unrealistic.

"If you say I can do it, then I can do it," I said. My words sounded hollow but I didn't wish to disappoint the old man.

"One more thing, Charlie. I need you to take Lucinda with you."

I choked on my tortilla and turned to Topo, my eyes wide.

"She cannot get along with her mother, and she wants to go to the dances and festivals, which, for a mother and a married woman, is scandalous behavior. She needs a challenge like this trip to help settle her mind."

"It is a long way to Oregon, Jefe. She could drown in a river, or freeze to death during a snowstorm, or perhaps get eaten by a bear."

I became dizzy envisioning the many possible scenarios that could end Lucinda's life.

"Have you ever seen an obstinate and dangerous horse die of colic or snake bite or step on a nail?"

"I see your point," I replied.

"Trust me, it isn't Lucinda's fate to die by accident. You can take her on the trail with you. No matter what happens to the other members of the expedition she will come back safe and sound."

Topo sat back in his chair and sighed. I was still trying to take it all in.

"Think of it this way, Charlie. The last time I sent her to be with you, she was responsible for the death of a good horse and a nearly put you in a wheel chair. Other things around her may suffer, but Lucinda will be fine."

"That accident was my fault, Don Topo. I was riding the horse when he broke his leg."

"You were doing something foolish because my daughter challenged your courage. She told me exactly what happened. I will say this for her: she doesn't shrink from telling the truth. Sometimes I wish she could sugarcoat things, but it isn't her way. My point is, she will be fine; you need to worry about yourself."

"What's to become of Patty if his mother is gone?" I asked.

"He will be well cared for. My wife gives him much more attention than Lucinda does, and the little pirate has his aunts fighting to do things for him, as well. He will be fine."

I was out of objections for the moment and shrugged.

Topo hunched forward and his tone became confidential. "I will be in your debt. Understand, if you don't take Lucinda with you, I cannot continue to live at my own house. I can no longer endure the fighting between her and my wife. They sound like donkey's braying before they get their grain, each demanding that I chastise the other. I can't say good morning without being in severe disfavor with one or the other. It is so bad, I have taken to eating at the restaurant down the street so I won't have to endure their arguments."

"Then... I hope it works out, for all of us."

Topo sat back in his chair and looked at an old painting of a relative that was hanging on the wall.

"Lucinda reminds me of my great uncle. He came up the Mission Trail with the Spanish Expedition that conquered California. He was prone to saying whatever he thought, which upset people. However, when difficulty and danger came to call, there was no better man to have with you. It is my guess you will find Lucinda the same way. The worse the conditions and the harder the circumstances, the better Lucinda will do. At the very least, one thing is certain: you will be much better acquainted with her by the time you return."

I had my doubts.

Don Topo rubbed his face in his hands, and then went back to business. "It's important that you go to Oregon for me, Charlie. I am going to keep putting cattle there until the rains fail to come to the coast. That might be years from now, but we must prepare for the future. Look at it this way: Since you are married to Lucinda, you may end up owning the ranch. Your hard work will have a reward."

I would never make Don Topo beg me for anything, so that was the end of the conversation as far as I was concerned. I was going to Oregon.

The next week was a whirlwind of gathering supplies, getting the horses and mules shod, mending tack, and braiding hobbles and riatas. The vaqueros drove small groups of heifers to the holding field near Monterey until finally three hundred head or cattle were gathered there.

I asked anyone living in Monterey who had been to Oregon about their trip. The more I heard about snowstorms and swollen rivers, the more I wished Don Topo wasn't sending me there. Lucinda saw the cattle as he father's cattle, and by extension, her cattle. She was not likely to do what she was told. She never had in the past and there was no reason to start now.

A young Mestizo was assigned to care for the remuda. Two of the better vaqueros under Topo's employ, were assigned to help me with the cattle.

The day we left with the three hundred heifers, Don Topo drove Lucinda out to the herd in a new wagon. The wagon held our provisions, bedding and grain for the horses as well as two large barrels of water. It was understood that when we got into country that was impassible for a wheeled vehicle, the wagon would be returned to Monterey.

Topo drew the wagon to a stop. His old white saddle-horse was tied to the back. Topo slid out of the wagon and began looking for a nearby stone he could stand on so he could get a foot in the stirrup and mount his horse. He found a suitable rock, then paused as he noticed another figure galloping toward us.

As the figure neared, I saw it was the Gotch-Eyed gunman that worked for Topo.

He drew up and gave me a slight nod, then turned his attention to Don Topo.

"What is he doing here?" Lucinda demanded, pointing at Gotch-Eyed Juan.

"He will help Charlie look after you and ensure your safe return," Topo replied, grunting as he awkwardly mounted his horse.

"Charlie can take care of me if I need taking care of," she replied.

"Once again, it is not your decision," Don Topo said. "You are leaving shorthanded, and Juan is a reliable man. As difficult as you are, I have no desire to lose you."

I regarded Gotch-Eyed Juan. The man never spoke unless he was asked a direct question that could be answered with a grunt. One of his eyes looked straight ahead, glowering out under a heavy brow. The other eye drifted inward. There was such a contrast between the two eyes: one the cold-blooded eye of a man angry with the world, and the other a clown's visage. His appearance made me want to laugh, but I didn't laugh, because Gotch-Eyed Juan held the reputation of someone who took action first and weighed the consequences later.

"Can I at least ride my stallion?" Lucinda asked, condescending to pout a little. She looked very proper in her short jacket and black flat-brimmed hat.

"You can ride whichever one of Charlie's horses he assigns you."

Lucinda glanced at me, and I nearly put my hand up to ward off the malevolence.

"I want to take my stallion," she said.

"Charlie?" Don Top said. "Do you want a stallion running with the saddle horses?"

"No," I replied. "A stallion would fight the geldings and create problems."

"Why can Charlie bring a mare, who caused the geldings to fight, yet I can't bring my stallion? The rest of the remuda is made up of geldings."

Don Topo moved his horse around until he was facing her. He fixed her with his sternest look.

"If you haven't noticed, they are your husband's horses. Not my horses, his horses. Through hard work and careful management, Charlie has built himself a remuda. If you thought about anything but yourself, you would have known that. Charlie is in charge of the herd and the cattle. You will do what he says."

I winced at his choice of words. Don Topo was heading back to Monterey, but I would be left to deal with Lucinda reacting to being told I was the boss.

Lucinda glared at me and flared her nostrils slightly, a thing she did if something greatly displeased her.

Her father continued on. "This is not a child's undertaking. This is a serious and dangerous task, and you will be doing well, daughter, to get back to Monterey without losing your toes to frostbite or your pretty black hair to hostile Indians. Now, for once, do what you are told."

With that, Don Topo spun his horse around and loped off in the direction of Monterey. I appraised the crew. A kid, a cranky opinionated young woman, a cranky, dangerous old pistolero and two close mouthed vaqueros. Outside of the kid, none of them would automatically accept me as the boss.

Lord only knew what Gotch-Eyed Juan would do the first time I gave him a direct order. He was said to have been headed to the gallows before he came under the calming influence of Don Topo, and was reputed to have killed men during the Bear Flag Rebellion—but he never talked about it. His demeanor didn't encourage questions. I had certainly never asked him anything other than to pass the tortillas.

I rode to the front of the herd and pointed the heifers north while the vaqueros pushed them from behind. It was a good three miles before the remuda and the cattle relaxed into a walk.

I pondered on what role the cross-eyed bodyguard would play on our journey. I had never seen him handle stock, but it would be surprising if he didn't know how. Most all Californians knew how to handle stock before they quit suckling the tit and were experienced cowhands way before they started to shave. He was a dangerous man with a dark past, allegedly having killed three men and wounding another man badly in a well observed knife fight at the Custom House. I wondered whether he would take orders from me.

I was still thinking about this when Lucinda came riding up next to me.

"If my father had let me bring my stallion, I would look forward to this adventure. I have never been on a journey of this magnitude," she said in a pleasant voice. "Do you know where we are going?"

"To the ocean and turn right," I replied.

She looked at me quizzically, and I restated.

"Some place called the Willamette Valley, in Oregon. Outside of knowing it is four hundred miles north of here, you know as much as I do."

Lucinda uncoiled her hair and let it spill out over her shoulders. She spoke quickly, like the excited child she was at that moment.

"My father said we will have a guide when we get past San Francisco. Will it be a dangerous trip, Charlie? Was all that talk about Indians meant to scare me? Do you think we will see any bears?"

"I hope not," I replied, wishing I was with someone who didn't anticipate the opportunity to rope a bear.

Scent of Tears

# Chapter Eleven

We camped fifteen miles north of Monterey the first night, at a small stream which ran through a meadow. The enormity of the responsibility I had been given started to sink in. I wasn't able to sleep much.

The grass was short, but we weren't bothered by anyone asking us at rifle point why we were grazing off their feed. Don Topo had mapped out the route until we got north of Marysville. He also arranged pasture for the cattle most of the way. Even though it was Fall, there were many creeks still running in the country we would be traveling through. That meant the stock would be well watered.

This was the largest number of cattle than I had ever taken north. I wasn't sure how they would line out. I planned on driving the heifers faster than I would have pushed fat steers going to Butcher Town. Heifers didn't need to be fat because they were not going to slaughter. They were going north to raise a calf. If the heifers arrived in reasonable condition when we reached the Oregon Territory, they would fatten in the spring.

Gotch-Eyed Juan, Topo's gunman, had ridden alongside the herd as we pushed them up the trail. He wasn't helping to guide the herd most of the time, but, out of boredom, he did turn the heifers back onto the trail when they wandered, assisting us in-spite of himself.

The second night I stayed up to ride around the cattle. They were restless and little groups kept standing up and moving around. We weren't far enough from their home range to insure they wouldn't run back to their home pasture. After my nervous night on horseback trying to prevent a stampede, I was happy to see the sun rise from behind the mountains. Though the cattle were cooperating, the first conflict within the trail crew soon arose.

"I can't eat what this boy cooks," Lucinda said, holding her plate out to me.

"Keep your voice down. You will hurt his feelings," I replied. The plate looked fine to me. A pile of runny, undercooked beans set on top of a tortilla. Lucinda continued to make a face.

"There may not be fresh fruit, honey and chocolate like there was back in Monterey but we will have to make due," I said.

Lucinda handed me her cup of coffee with her nose wrinkled. I tasted it. It was a little weak, but that made the supply of coffee last longer so I didn't see the problem. We weren't going to eat again until evening and by then beans and tortillas would taste good, provided I wasn't too tired to eat.

"What do you suggest?" I asked.

"I'll cook if you don't have anybody more skilled than that boy," she replied.

I stared at her in shock. If I had suggested she do the cooking she would have taken a quirt to me.

"Why is your mouth gaping open? You don't think I can cook?"

"I never thought of you as a cook. It will be work," I said. I saw her eyes narrow.

"You think I am afraid of hard work?"

"If you want to do the cooking, nobody is going to stop you."

"The kid does the dishes," she said.

Using as much delicacy as possible, I asked the boy who was already trying to wrangle the horses and prepare the food, if he would mind if Lucinda did the cooking. I didn't have the heart to tell him that besides staying up all night watching the horses, he would have to wash dishes. I decided to take that responsibility on myself. We would just have to postpone the cattle drive every morning until I got done scrubbing the pots and pans.

That evening, I waited until our little crew finished the meal Lucinda prepared, then collected the utensils and plates and headed down toward the creek. Lucinda watched me in amazement. When I walked to the creek she followed me.

"You can't let the vaqueros see you washing dishes. They will lose respect for you."

"The only respect I will get from them is if I work harder than they do," I said.

"Those men work for you, they will do what they are told or suffer the consequences," she said with an air of aristocratic superiority.

"They work for your father. They don't work for me. I am only in charge in his absence. Heading cattle north isn't exactly a challenge, but if things get tough, what is to stop them from riding back to Monterey?" I asked. Her look softened into a frown.

"You worry about everything."

It was impossible to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

"And you worry about nothing. What a perfect couple."

"Charlie, how are you going to work harder than they do if you are so much pain you can't even saddle your horse? This morning you sounded like an old man with gout the way you grunted and groaned. It hurts to watch you."

"You sound sympathetic. Are you not feeling well?" I asked. She threw up her hands and walked away.

The next morning we drove the heifers twenty miles up the road to one of the ranches where we were to pick up another hundred head of Topo's heifers. I told the vaqueros to hold our cattle up within sight of the other herd. I then climbed in the buggy so I could give my back a rest. Lucinda drove the team.

I looked around for Gotch-Eyed Juan. Topo's gunman had ridden alongside of the herd when we were driving them. He wasn't helping to guide the herd most of the time, but, out of boredom he did turn the heifers back onto the trail when they wandered, assisting us in-spite of himself.

The gunman never spoke unless he was asked a direct question that could be answered with a grunt. One of his eyes looked straight ahead, glowering out under a heavy brow. The other eye drifted inward. There was such a contrast between the two eyes, one the cold blooded eye of a man angry with the world and the other a clown's visage. His appearance made me want to laugh. I didn't laugh because Gotch-Eyed Juan held the reputation of someone who took action first and weighed the consequences later. Juan was said to be headed to the gallows before he came under the calming influence of Don Topo. He was reputed to have killed some men during the Bear Flag Rebellion but he never talked about it. His demeanor didn't encourage questions. I certainly never asked him anything other than to pass the tortillas.

As the wagon drew closer I saw with some consternation that Don Tomasino, the man I had beaten outside the bordello in Monterey, was standing in front of a shack. He looked older and fatter than the last time I had seen him. When we drew up, he glared at me with red, watery eyes. He was unshaven and his clothes seemed threadbare. Even from where I sat in the wagon, I could smell alcohol fumes rising from his skin.

"You are going to drive this many cattle north, kid?" Tomasino asked, looking at me with exaggerated astonishment. "Topo doesn't have any men working for him? He has to send a boy who needs a woman drive the wagon?"

The blood rose in my face but I took a deep breath. If I could withstand a few insults until the heifers Tomasino was holding were thrown in with the main herd, perhaps our trip to Oregon could resume. However, this was not to be.

"I haven't forgotten about when you hit me on the head with a stick of firewood, perro. Today, I will repay you with interest."

"I don't have time for this, Don Tomasino. Let me have the cattle and we will be on our way," I replied, shifting in my seat. I wasn't sure, given the condition of my back, that I would be able to do much anyway. Lifting my saddle onto my horse in the morning was about all I could accomplish. Simply getting out of the wagon to address Don Tomasino was going to take a few minutes of concentrated effort. It seemed Don Tomasino had put some thought into his revenge and wasn't going to be denied. He turned on his heel and held his hand out toward a hulking figure who stepped out of the cabin.

"You can step down off the wagon and meet Alberto Garcia like a man, or I will have him pull you off the wagon into the dirt where you belong," Tomasino said. Alberto was a younger version of Anastasio Garcia, the noted outlaw and killer I had met when I rode into Tiburcio Vasquez's camp in search of my mare. He was immensely thick through the shoulders and neck, with heavy forearms and large hands. His head was oversized even for his height and huge frame.

"My husband would be glad to deal with your ruffian, but he has been injured in a riding accident and is much diminished. Perhaps you could be generous enough to let us take the cattle to Oregon and reserve your revenge for our return?" Lucinda asked.

"I suspect your husband would not be so easy to find now that he knows what is waiting for him. Now, get out of the wagon, you worthless whelp, or I will have you dragged from the wagon. It doesn't matter to me."

I wondered if a beating was going to be carried out with only fists and boots or if I would be roped and dragged down the road. I carried a small knife in my belt. If I didn't stick it through Alberto's eye or into his throat, I would only cause him to be more exacting in his punishment. Lucinda addressed Tomasino.

"You know who I am, Don Tomasino?" Lucinda asked mildly.

In the many years since the incident, I have given much thought toward Lucinda's attempt at diplomacy. It wasn't her nature or her habit to be soothing. My conclusion was that Lucinda instinctively knew how bad this situation was. She was doing what she could to avoid things getting any worse.

"I know you are one of Topo's daughters. The scandalous one I believe," Tomasino said.

I felt Lucinda stiffen, then drop her head. When she raised her head, she was smiling.

"That is enough of that kind of talk, Tomasino," I said in a low tone.

Gotch-Eyed Juan rode up near the wagon. I could see the surprise in Tomasino's face. He had been informed that Lucinda I were coming, but nobody had told him about Juan.

"Stay out of this, Juan." Tomasino said, raising a half-hearted finger toward the gunman. Juan shrugged his shoulders and looked off, as if this wasn't his concern.

"You are going to insist on this ruffian attacking my husband? Has the alcohol so reduced you as a man you are you afraid to fight for yourself? Have you always been that much of a coward?" she asked Tomasino in a reasonable voice.

"Pull the Yankee off the wagon, Alberto," Tomasino said to the large man, who grinned and started toward the wagon. Lucinda turned in the wagon seat and reached behind her. She grasped a shotgun that was lying in the floor of the wagon bed. With one smooth motion, she picked up the short-barreled weapon, swung it around and cocked the hammers. Don Tomasino saw her pick up the shotgun and was in the act of fumbling for his pistol when Lucinda shot him in the middle of his chest. The buckshot knocked him off his feet.

For a second after the blast, everyone was frozen, then the big man clawed at the pistol in his belt, stepping back as he did. Lucinda aimed the other barrel at him but, as she fired, the horses pulling the wagon jumped forward. The movement caused her to miss. I watched in horror as Alberto got his pistol free of the holster and aimed it in our direction. Another round exploded. A hole appeared below Alberto's left eye and he sank to the ground. Gotch-Eyed Juan stepped off his horse, keeping his pistol ready in case there was life left in his advisory.

My heart was pounding and I couldn't get my breath. I looked at Lucinda. The blood had drained from her face, but her features remained composed. Don Tomasino was making high keening noises in the dust where he lay. The heels of his boots were feebly drumming in the dirt as he twitched and contorted. There was so much blood and tissue on the ground, it was clear he only had minutes to live. Alberto was not breathing.

"What should we do, Juan?" Lucinda asked. Juan was busy keeping the two corpses covered with his pistol. He didn't have a ready answer.

"Would it be better if we loaded these pendejos into the wagon and you drive them back to Monterey? Perhaps load their saddles in the wagon as well so nobody will think we robbed them? I have heard Alberto Garcia has a reward posted for his capture. If you turn his body over to the sheriff and report that Tomasino was killed in the crossfire, that may be the end of it."

Juan nodded his head in agreement and tied his horse to the wagon wheel in anticipation of loading the bodies into the wagon. He leaned against the wagon and placing his hand over his face, began silently talking to himself. Whether he was saying prayers for the dead men, or simply going over the story he would tell in Monterey was unclear.

"Should I return with the wagon to the cattle drive after I drop off the bodies with the Sheriff?" he asked, after his unnerving inward consultation.

Lucinda's voice sounded so calm it amazed me.

"There may be an inquest. If you are there to present your story, and no one is around to contradict you, then it will end there. Send another man back with the wagon. We won't be that far up the trail. Just tell him to follow the cow manure."

The two vaqueros started toward the wagon when they heard the shots. I waved them back to the herd. The fewer people who saw what had happened, the better for all of us.

I didn't want to be covered with Tomasino's entrails as we hoisted him into the wagon, so I unsaddled Tomasino's horse and laid out his blanket so I could roll his body onto it. Alberto Garcia was missing the back of his head. There wasn't nearly as much blood though, so it was easier to avoid. I took everything we would need out of the wagon. Then, with considerable effort, the three of us loaded the two dead men into the springboard wagon and piled their weapons and saddles on top of them. With the bodies loaded in the wagon, there wasn't much left to say. Lucinda stepped close to Juan and put her hand on his horse's shoulder.

"Find my father and tell him exactly what happened. Then tell him what I said about bringing Alberto Garcia in for the reward and Tomasino getting killed in the crossfire. Now, go."

I motioned to the vaqueros to bring us some horses. I could see that they wanted to ask what happened, but one look at Lucinda's face and they stayed silent.

After we were mounted, I pushed the extra hundred head of heifers into the main bunch and we headed them back on the road. In a mile or two, the heifers seemed to line out and I rode off to the side of the trail. I had managed to keep most of the blood off my clothing when loading the bodies, except for a large spot on my sleeve. I climbed off my horse and got down on my knees and tried to rub enough sand into the area to make it a dirty stain on the shirt. I could still hear the pitiful groans and see the blood and entrails of Don Tomasino in my mind. I imagined I could still smell his exploded guts as I sat on the ground. My eyes started to water and I blew out some exaggerated breaths through my nose, but it was no use. I started heaving but nothing came out.

"Charlie, we had no choice," I heard Lucinda say. I hadn't heard her ride up but I was now sitting in the shadow of her horse. I wasn't sure what she meant by we. I had sat there frozen in place while the killings took place.

"I wish no one had been killed," I said, as I wiped my mouth with my forearm.

Lucinda unstrapped a canteen from her saddle horn, reached down and let it swing into my hat. I reached up and took it from her.

"You feel sorry for those men, Charlie?"

I got back up to my feet and looked at her. She sat perfectly erect. She still looked pale but her features were relaxed. I felt like a timid Mission Indian in the presence of a Spanish Lancer. Uncorking the canteen, I let the water spill into my throat, then spit it out.

"They may not deserve pity, Lucinda, but vendetta killings die an ugly death. Years ago Tomasino was going to hurt my horse, Luna, and I tried to stab him. He hit me in the face with his quirt. Later, when I caught him drunk outside a whorehouse, I beat him with a piece of firewood. Now, because of my actions, two men have been killed. Do you really think this will end there?"

"Tomasino was a pig," she replied.

"Maybe so, but he was a pig with relatives. Even if no one is interested in avenging him, how about Alberto? We both know he has many relatives. Big, strong, active ones who are dead shots."

"Juan killed him, not me. Other than our vaqueros, no one knows what happened."

"But they will. Nothing you do in this life stays hidden," I said, and wanted to finish my sentence with a profanity. I knew it was best to limit what I said while I was upset, but today Lucinda's arrogance overwhelmed me.

"Too many people saw the killings. Soon, people will know you killed Tomasino with a shotgun. If they don't think it was you, they will think it was me. I don't know which is worse."

"Tomasino called me scandalous. I saw his words bothered you."

"You are scandalous. Even if it bothered me, it didn't bother me enough to kill him."

"He said you beat him with a piece of firewood outside of a bordello," she said. She sounded curious.

"I asked him for my father's knife back and he refused me. Look where it brought us. A knife isn't worth two lives. What about Gotch-Eyed Juan? Don't you think one of the Garcias will try to kill him over this?" I asked.

"My father says Juan has been looking for death since he first looked in a mirror. He just hasn't found it yet," Lucinda replied and stood on her toes in the saddle, scanning the heifers as they meandered up the trail. She held the canteen out to me again.

"Do you want another drink of water, Charlie?" she asked.

I put my hand on my saddle horn, overcome with the enormity of what had happened.

"Charlie, do you really think you were only going to take a beating? You would have been stomped to death or at the very least crippled so badly you couldn't get on a horse. Then what? I'm left to drive the cattle to Oregon by myself? I did what I had to do, which is what people of my blood have been doing as long as they have been in the Alto Sierra. My father needs you. I wasn't going to let that coarse, drunken old man take your services from my family."

I looked at her in shock. She had reducing my position to that of a servant, a dog that she had prevented a stranger from whipping.

Finally, I said, "Maybe just hold him off with a shotgun while we gathered the cattle would have been enough?"

"There were two of them. Tomasino was drunk. There is no point in trying to gain cooperation from a drunk, especially when they insult you."

I contemplated climbing back on my horse and riding back to Monterey but the air seemed to have left my body.

"Come on, Charlie. Get back in the saddle. Those cattle aren't going to find their own way to Oregon."

Scent of Tears

# Chapter Twelve

The smell of the gunpowder and the spilled intestines of Don Tomasino diminished in my mind over the next two days. Driving cattle is a monotonous routine, broken up by quick moments of fear. The cattle were spooked by something the second night but luckily, no one was injured in the stampede. When morning came, we were short forty head. We were able to recover those who escaped that day, putting us one day behind schedule. The crew fell into the routine of travel. We were fed, saddled and out on the trail by daylight. Because I feared the snow, we pushed the cattle as hard as they would let us throughout the day. I would ride ahead and find a place to camp an hour before sundown. When you added a stop now and then to water along a creek or river, it was a long day in the saddle.

As we pushed further north, the nights became colder and frost coated the ground. We no longer had the wagon. Three of the saddle horses were used as pack horses to carry the supplies that had been carried in the wagon. It made setting up camp more difficult and breaking camp in the morning more time consuming, as well. I assigned a vaqueros who showed ability to pack the horses and balance the load and put everything on the horses. While he was occupied with that, the rest of us started the cattle. He was very good at his job, which was appreciated by all. The packs were so heavy, we rotated the horses, packing them one day and riding them the next.

The stoutest and gentlest horse was picked to carry Lucinda's expensive heavy canvas bedroll and tent. I hoped the wagon would get back sooner rather than later. I was going to suggest that she leave the tent behind, but she would have nowhere to dress. Any delay caused me to be apprehensive about the cold weather we were sure to hit before we got the cattle to Oregon.

As we ambled along the day after the stampede, the young Castro boy rode up alongside me.

"May I ask a question, Señor Horn?"

I nodded. The boy pursed his lips together and I could tell he was trying to phrase his question carefully.

"Do you think you can show me the secrets of the bridle horse?"

"What makes you think I know?" I asked him, surprised.

"When you sort off the local cattle that get mixed in with our herd, your roan mare seems to know what the cattle are going to do before they do. I see the way she slides without you having to... how do you say, tighten the reins. Can you teach me to ride a horse like that?"

"What about your uncles? They are fine horsemen."

"When I ask, they tell me to watch and learn, and not to bother them. I can see you are a kind man and would help a novice," he said.

"If you remind me tonight at the campfire, I will tell you a few of the things that a much better horseman have told me," I replied, thinking of the kindness and patience Genero had shown me when I was learning.

After our conversation, I would visit with the boy after dinner. During the days that followed, I would watch him quietly trying different things that I had suggested on his horse. It made me feel good to help him. True horsemen are born and always recognize one another. In that place and time, it wasn't often an accomplished horseman would share his secrets. The young men were expected to figure it out for themselves. Genero had helped me, gently coaching me every day. I felt a responsibility to pass on what I had learned. I had never been looked up to as a reins-man before. I came to relish my conversations with the boy in the evenings. When his uncles harshly insisted he not bother me, I gave him the second-best horse in my string, so they would know I considered their nephew an apprentice.

Don Topo had sent good vaqueros with me. My little band of geldings were the best horses I could select. Well-mounted stockmen, who knew what they were doing, could move cattle without difficulty. The heifers grew tired as we pushed them twelve or more miles a day. They began to stay still at night where they were bedded down and stayed there until morning.

On the evening of the fourth day, Lucinda announced after dinner that she was tired of smelling her own sweat and was going to bathe in the creek.

"Is that a good idea? We don't know who is lingering around this country. You don't know what kind of stream you are dealing with and it is getting dark."

"Charlie, you sound worse than the nuns who teach at the mission. Not everything in life merits your concern. If you are worried, bring your rifle and watch me,' she replied. "You can even do the dishes while I bathe. Let's go before it gets too cold."

I had yet to catch my breath at the prospect of watching her bathe when Lucinda whirled around and marched off toward creek. The cattle had been watering in the creek before we bedded them down so we had to hike some distance upstream to get clear of the cow manure. It was about six in the evening and the shadows lengthened. The creek looked swift and cold, though I couldn't tell how deep it was. I lugged the dish-pot to the bank and started scouring the dishes and cooking implements with sand before washing them off. Lucinda walked ten yards upstream and took off her boots, blouse and skirt. She had brought fresh clothes with her and started to wash the skirt and blouse she was wearing, as well as her socks.

"Charlie, how are you supposed to watch over me if you won't look in my direction?" she asked. It sounded like she was teasing me but with Lucinda, I never knew.

"I didn't know if I was supposed to look at you or not," was all I could think of to say.

"We're married. What do you have to be embarrassed about?"

"Since you put it that way," I said and turned to look at her.

She was sitting on a rock, her body submerged to the waist in the water, rubbing the dirty linen against a rock. A bar of soap was in one hand. In a minute, she put the soap on a rock, and hung the clothes she had been washing on a tree branch. She then began washing her hair. The water from her hair soon soaked the flimsy garment she wore under her blouse. I was suddenly looking at her breasts in all their glory. They were most certainly glorious, standing out from her narrow ribcage and accentuated with large dark tips. I tried not to gawk but it was hopeless. Lucinda made my awkwardness worse by looking directly at me and smiling, then holding the tips of her thumbs to her cheeks and sticking out her tongue. I was so mesmerized that I almost didn't see the shadow moving under a tree next to the creek. I threw down the dishes and stumbled back to where my rifle lay, against a rock. I reached for the weapon and chambered a round. By the time I had gotten the butt of the gun under my cheek, I had lost track of whatever had cast the shadow.

Lucinda stood up when she saw me shoulder the rifle and took a step back into the stream. As I looked around for the thing that had intruded on us, the look of fear on my face caused Lucinda to take another step back. In an instant, she was swept off her feet by the rapidly flowing water. She gave a muffled cry and then she was floating down the creek. I was still trying to figure out what was lurking on the bank. The second time Lucinda called my name, I saw she was in the middle of the creek, frantically attempting to stand. I saw her, and then she disappeared underwater.

I ran to the edge of the creek near where I had seen her go under, then waded out into the freezing stream. I threw the rifle back on the bank. In the fading light, I caught a glimpse of Lucinda's hair under the rippling current. I fought my way through the water to her and reached down in the cold, rushing stream and grasped her by the arm. I tried to pull from under the water, but she was stuck.

I had no idea what I was dealing with. I knew there was maybe thirty seconds to go before she drowned, if she hadn't already done so. I sunk down under the surface. Her struggles had kicked up enough sand that I couldn't see much in the evening light. The only thing that made sense was that she was caught in an undertow, where the force of the current had hollowed out a passage beneath a tree trunk or a rock and the current was trapping her underwater. A half sunken tree limb stuck out from the water. It had to be what was holding her under. I had little time left to free her and the stream seemed too rapid to pull her loose from the current. In desperation, I attempted to get under the partially submerged wood.

I fought my way to the dead limb and without much hope, hunkered down. In the cold, roiling water I finally got under it and heaved skyward. On the first desperate push, my feet slipped on the rocks and I floundered. I got to my feet, set my boots in the sand and pushed up against the log with all my might. There was movement, a muted crack, and the tree trunk shifted enough for Lucinda to be swept under whatever was pinning her down. I saw her bob down the creek. I dove over the dead wood and swam after her. She was floating face down and I feared she had already drowned. In despair, I battled my way to her body. Gripping her undergarment, I tried to stop her. The cloth ripped away. I caught a foot and finally got enough control of her body to lift her face out of the water. All this time, I was silently telling her not to die, that I would be in so much trouble with her father if I let her die. I was completely out of air. It took a great deal of effort to drag her the final few feet through the stream to the bank. Once on the bank, I turned her on her side and hit her solidly in the center of her back. She coughed the creek water violently out of her lungs. I lay back on the bank to get my breath. We lay like that for several minutes. Then Lucinda sat up.

"Where are my clothes?" she said.

"They came off in the creek."

"Well, go get me something to put on," she said, holding her splayed hands across her breasts.

She looked vulnerable in the evening light with her black hair wet and tangled against her head and neck. Her face and hands were tanned a dark mahogany. The remainder of her body was almost porcelain white. I couldn't imagine a female form any more perfect than hers.

"Charlie, if you don't quit staring and find me something to put on, the Castro brothers will be here looking for us. Do you want them to see me naked? Besides, I'm colder than the devil's heart. Get me a blanket before I freeze to death."

I rolled over and got to my feet. On my way back to get her clothes, I saw that my rifle no longer lay on the bank. Reaching instinctively for my knife, I saw it to, had vanished in the struggle to rescue Lucinda from the creek. I wanted to curse, but thought it better to keep quiet. I gathered up the clothes she had been washing and backed away to where she was, handing them to her.

"Put your clothes on and let's get out of here," I said.

"Oh, now you are going to start bossing me around," she said. I saw the fire come back into her eyes. The near drowning had not dampened her temper.

"Whatever was moving around in the trees when you were washing your clothes picked up my rifle. Let's get the dishes and your boots and get the hell out of here," I said in a whisper.

Lucinda's eyes widened, and she started moving. She was up and dressed and looking for her boots before I had the dish-tub loaded. In our flight back to camp it was as if we were once again little kids in Monterey, running from an unknown horror lurking in the darkness.

"I lost the knife my father gave me because you had to have a bath. That really angers me."

"I'll buy you another knife."

"It wouldn't be the same."

Lucinda laughed and said, "Now we sound like we are married, Charlie."

"At least I had the forethought to set up your tent before you went swimming," I said, and escorted her to it. I held the flap open as she scurried inside. I walked over to the boy and the two vaqueros, sitting by the fire. I told them I had seen something in the fading light. They responded by getting their rifles from the scabbards. There was nothing else to arm myself with so I stuck a butcher knife from the camp kitchen in my belt and took the short barreled shotgun with me to my bedroll. I would be roused at three in the morning to guard the herd, so I wanted to get some sleep.

I slept a few feet from Lucinda's tent as a protective measure. I wanted to be outside so that I could hear if there was a problem with the cattle. After an hour, she put her head out of the tent and woke me up.

"Charlie, I need to talk to you."

"Talk to me tomorrow," I replied.

"I need to talk to you tonight. Come inside."

I started to tell her to talk to me from where she was, but a vision of her naked body flashed in front of my eyes and I found myself inside the tent.

"What was it on the bank?" she asked when I was seated across from her. Lucinda had pinned up her hair and put on a silky robe.

"No telling. I'll look for tracks in the morning."

"Why didn't you shoot?", she asked.

"I didn't know what I would be shooting at. If it was a bear, I didn't want to wound it in the poor light. If it was an Indian, I didn't want to shoot him for no reason."

"If it was an Indian, he shouldn't have been spying on me," she replied.

"If it was an Indian, maybe he lives here," I said. I could see the wheels spinning in her head and her expression reminded me of Don Topo. She looked up and gave me a seductive smile which I found unnerving.

She next spoke in a conspiratorial whisper.

"It was altogether a close call. I haven't thanked you for pulling me out of the water," she said. Although I had no experience with women, I thought I knew what form her gratitude would take.

"I'll need to go down and look at the tracks in the morning. I would like to get back the rifle Tiburcio gave me."

At that, her mouth dropped open as I expected it would. Her expression said all that needed to be said about his place in her thoughts.

"Tiburcio," she said in a hushed tone. It sounded like she was referring to a Catholic saint.

"I never told you about his present to me?"

"You damn well know you didn't, Charlie Horn."

"It must have slipped my mind. Tiburcio stopped by to congratulate me on getting married and gave me rifle as a wedding present. It's true what they say about him."

"What do they say?" Lucinda blurted out, eyes wide.

"That he is a fine shot. Now, if you'll excuse me, I want to get some sleep before it's my turn to stand watch."

Lucinda ran her long fingers around the back of her neck. She tugged slightly on the collar of her robe.

"You saved my life tonight," she said.

"You said that already."

I looked at her in the flickering candlelight and thought I had never seen anything so lovely in my life.

"Perhaps I should thank you properly, Charlie," she said. Lucinda pulled her robe open slightly. Now there was no mistaking her intent. The conflict I felt about her was like a living entity, kicking me in the heart.

"I would love to experience your gratitude, but you still belong to Tiburcio. You aren't something I want to share," I said, and slipped out of the tent.

"Don't go, Charlie. How is your back? Even underwater, that limb made such a loud crack. It must have hurt you to lift it," she said, speaking through the closed tent flap.

"Other things hurt worse. See you in the morning." I said. I went back to my blankets, though not back to sleep.

Scent of Tears

# Chapter Thirteen

The next morning, I expected to wake up content that I had the strength to refuse Lucinda's offer of gratitude. Instead, I arose with a dripping nose and a cough. It wasn't bad when we broke camp. I even managed to look around the creek bank. I found some moccasin tracks, which answered the question of what happened to the rifle. The excitement of finding out my rifle was stolen by Indians quelled my coughing and sneezing for a moment. However, by mid-morning, I was having trouble breathing and my head was swimming.

We came to a bridge around noon. Bridges were few and far between. Most were toll bridges, so the builder could recoup his investment. Several roads converged at this bridge. Perhaps that created enough traffic to justify construction. I didn't care why it was there if it kept me from ending up neck deep in cold, swirling water. The trouble was, this crossing looked too narrow for cattle. I left the crew to hold the cattle while I rode downstream to see if there was another crossing. The three mile ride did not reveal a better place to cross. In fact, the undergrowth was so thick along the creek, it would be hard to drive the cattle through to get them to the water. It would be difficult to push the heifers across the bridge, if it could be done at all. Cattle raised in the brush weren't used to walking on wood planks.

The two vaqueros and the boy moved around the cattle, pushing them to the start of the bridge, hoping one cow would become curious and step on the planks. So far it hadn't happened. If we all took a run at the bunch standing closest to the bridge, there was a better than even chance the rest of the cattle would escape back down the road creating a delay. I sat off to the side wondering what to do. Lucinda rode up to the head of the herd and uncoiled the tightly braided rawhide riata she carried. She built a loop but held it down at her side. Standing along the edge of the herd, was a calf that had been born the night before. The calf had traveled for half the day and was about done. Lucinda side-passed her horse quietly to where the calf and her mother stood. With a gentle, sweeping movement of her arm, she twirled the loop, backhanded, and threw it over the little calf's neck. Taking a dally around the saddle horn, she spurred her horse toward the bridge, dragging the calf behind her. The calf bawled loudly and the other cattle ran toward her with their noses held low, curious and concerned. Lucinda started her now-spooked horse onto the bridge. The horse momentarily balked at stepping on the boards, until Lucinda drove her large roweled spurs into its ribs. The horse leaped forward, dragging the calf along. I thought the horse might balk when his hooves hit the planks, but he dropped his head and moved forward. First the calf's mother, then a few of the other heifers started across. With the enthusiastic urging of the crew, we got the rest of the cattle to cross. Everyone in the crew raised their hands toward Lucinda in a salute. I wasn't the only one who didn't want to go swimming if it could be avoided.

I didn't talk to Lucinda all day. I spent my energy trying to stay upright in the saddle and paid attention to where the trail led. By nightfall, I had a fever. I saw Lucinda looking at me, questioningly.

"Are you sick, Charlie?" she asked in alarm. I didn't answer.

She looked up into my face and studying my eyes closely, put her hand on my cheek, then immediately pulled it back.

"You idiot! Your face is hot enough to fry an egg," she said, shaking her head.

I broke into a fit of coughing.

"How does having a fever make me an idiot?"

"Your pride made you sleep on the cold ground last night. If you had slept with me in the tent, you wouldn't have caught cold. What did you think was going to happen from sleeping in wet clothing? You didn't even move your blankets near the fire. You're ignorance makes me very angry."

"It isn't your concern." I said and tried to keep from coughing without much luck. She put her hands on her hips and glared at me until I quit hacking.

"I am not taking these cattle up north alone. Tonight you sleep in my tent."

"What about my virtue?"

"So you're going to make me sleep outside? There are four women for every hundred men in this part of the country. None of them look like me, yet Charlie Horn is going to demand I sleep outside."

She sounded so serious I started to laugh. After trying to maintain her glare, Lucinda started to laugh as well. My laughter was replaced by a racking cough. With surprising strength, Lucinda grabbed my arm and marched me into the tent.

At her insistence, I took off my hat and neck scarf. Struggling, I finally wrestled my still-wet boots off. Lucinda insisted I take off my pants, saying no one could get restful sleep wearing pants and a belt. I took them off and lay down on the doubled over blankets that served as her mattress. Even through my clogged nostrils, I smelled a slight trace of the perfume she sometimes wore.

"If you sleep with me, won't you get sick?" I asked.

"If I sleep near you, you mean. You missed your chance to sleep with me last night. Tonight, I am no longer in the mood. I am showing you another kind of care because without you the Castro brothers will go back to Monterey and leave me, God knows where," she responded and adjusted the bag, full of clothes she used as a pillow.

"It doesn't matter," I said.

"What, you are suddenly a man of the world and my kindness toward you is a trifling thing?" she replied.

"My heart stops when you look at me. I have been that way since we were children. I don't deny that. I also don't need to worry about you getting pneumonia."

"You are being silly because you are ill. You should have noticed by now, that I am stronger than you. I won't catch your cold. Still, keep your distance."

I silently thanked her and turned away. Eventually, I fell asleep. That is where it would have ended, except that around midnight, I started shaking with violent chills.

I awoke, shivering, chilled to my bones. My teeth were chattering so loudly it woke Lucinda. She turned to me and brought her body against mine. Still, I could not stop the uncontrollable shaking. She held on harder.

"Dear God, Charlie, you are going to shake to pieces," she said as another spasm racked me. I wanted to tell her I was sorry but couldn't get the words out through my clattering teeth. After a moment, Lucinda removed her robe and pressed her naked body tightly against me. I could feel the comfort and warmth of her skin. She murmured that it would be fine and whispered my name. Eventually the shaking stopped and I lay still.

"When you wake up and the first thing you see is my face, you will be cured of your illness. Do you believe me?" she asked. "My sisters say I'm a witch."

I felt her warm breath against my eyes. I smiled as I thought of Lucinda's sisters calling her a witch.

"Are you sure they said witch?" I asked. She told me to shush.

I pressed my open palm against her back and held her to me until I drifted off to sleep. When I awoke to the light of the morning, Lucinda was lying propped up on her pillow staring at me. She was the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes and, as she had predicted, I was cured. If not cured, at least well enough to saddle my horse and continue the drive North.

That day, Lucinda insisted we stop early. She had the men pitch her tent on a flat spot under a spreading Oak tree and ordered me to lie down. I told her that every day we missed getting the cattle through the mountains was another day we risked losing livestock, as well as fingers and toes to the cold. She looked so sternly at me and my body felt so tired, I gave in and lay down in the tent. I didn't wake until just before dawn. Lucinda was awake watching me when I came to. She had a gourd of liquid she held out to me. I took the gourd and raised it to my lips.

"What is it?" I asked.

"I boiled some meat last night and made a broth for you. It will keep your strength up," she said.

"I didn't shiver?"

"No, but you snored like a pole-axed ox."

"I see snoring doesn't make your robe come off like shivering does."

"Drink your broth," she said.

"You were right. I did feel better when I woke up and saw you," I said. Lucinda shifted around until she was sitting up. She brushed a loose strand of hair from her forehead and gave me a somber look. I reached out and touched her hair with my fingers only to have her knock my hand away.

"Keep your fingers out of my hair. My hair gets greasy enough as it is."

"The snoring must have really annoyed you," I said.

"Ours is a business relationship."

"So I am back to being nothing more than a servant of your family?"

She reached over and put her hand on my shoulder.

"You are not a servant. We are in this together. I have been thinking. If I don't want more children, then I must follow my mother's advice and keep my knees together."

"Who said anything about children?"

"If a woman plays with the trouser snake, it results in a swollen belly. It isn't that you would make a bad father. I simply don't want more children. I suspect that is unnatural, but it is how I feel. My sisters want to have a child for each year they are married. They have leaking breasts or a teething child's spit or a runny diaper to deal with every waking hour. Something wet and smelly, every minute of their lives. I don't want to get fat and quit riding horses or going to dances and having adventures like the one we are on now. People think I am a bad mother. My mother calls me a shameless slattern because I want to go to a dance unescorted. I am not even nineteen and everybody but me wants my life to be over. Can you understand that, Charlie? Think how different we are. I like the gaiety of dancing and parties. You are serious. Horses and cattle are your whole world. You would want me to live in a cow camp deep in the foothills. There is nothing wrong with that except that it's not for me. To me, cattle are animals that turn grass into shit."

Lucinda stared at me, then blew air out of her mouth like she was trying to cool hot coffee.

"Don't look at me like that. My father wants you as his son-in-law. My sisters think you are handsome with your curly blonde hair and your green eyes. You are a good man, but being with me would be the end of you."

I tried to keep my head up.

"My father loves you Charlie, and in my own way I am fond of you but you need to quit hoping I will ever be your wife," she said.

Finally, anger rose up in me.

"I never thought of you as my wife. That was your father's doing," I said.

"Things are not as complicated for us as they would be if I welcomed you into my bed. You said as much last night. You would become jealous and get it in your head that you could control me."

"Do you often have these conversations with yourself, because you have no reason to talk to me this way," I asked, but was ignored.

"Don't you realize that every time you are around me, you nearly die? You fell out of a tree in Monterey, you fell off your horse at the Chualar, you plunged into the creek to save me and came down with pneumonia. You are a man and naturally stupid about things, but even you must realize I am bad luck for you," she said.

It seemed pointless to agree. Even if I could have thought of a retort, I doubted I could draw in enough breath to speak.

Scent of Tears

# Chapter Fourteen

The wagon pulled into camp the next afternoon, loaded with supplies. Don Topo must have missed his daughter because he had sent new coats, scarves, blankets and gloves. Stacked on top of the clothing was every type of food that would travel a long distance. It was getting cold enough on the trail, that his generosity was deeply appreciated. He had also sent Gotch-Eyed Juan back with the wagon.

Juan, close-mouthed as always, didn't say why he left Monterey. It would stand to reason that the more time passed following the killings, the more people would forget. Juan would be on hand to protect Lucinda, which was doubtlessly a consideration for Topo. I was glad to see the gunman return. We were going into unknown territory and Juan's glowering presence alone might deter trouble.

I started sleeping in the back of the wagon on top of some the new blankets Topo had sent. The wagon bed was even and better for my back than laying on the ground. Every night I dozed off, watching the small kerosene light glowing from inside Lucinda's tent. I avoided talking to her, but I couldn't help watching her. For her part, she didn't argue with me or offer suggestions about where to steer the cattle more often than twice a day.

The next morning, I woke up and found Lucinda had again caught the calf she had used to bait the cattle into crossing the bridge. She tied its legs together. With Juan's help, they put it in the wagon and drove away. The mother cow followed the calf's bawling from a distance, but soon came back to the herd. Lucinda hadn't discussed her plans with me. I imagined she was going to a settlement we had passed along the way. I could have started with the herd without her, but decided to wait. She came back in the late morning with a pail of milk and sacks of grain for the horses, as well as some canned fruit. Lucinda had traded the calf for the victuals. It was a good trade because the horses would need the grain and the little calf never would have survived the drive. When she pulled up in the wagon, Lucinda announced that she was going to make a real dinner for the crew. To everyone's astonishment and delight, she made a peach pie, fried potatoes, flatbread covered with jam and fresh coffee served with cream. It was wonderful food and the cold weather made it taste even better. At the end of the meal, the stoic, eternally quiet Castro brothers spontaneously started clapping. I joined in. After a moment, Gotch-Eyed Juan began slowly clapping as well. Lucinda blushed and then took a bow, her face beaming. Everyone was so full that I decided to let the cattle rest and the horses eat their grain. Subsequently, we lost a day.

The next morning I woke up to the snap and pop of the fire. It was the first morning I had slept in since we started. Lucinda had fried some flatbread in grease left over from the night before. I had never smelled anything so wonderful in my life. I ate the bread and sat by the crackling fire, feeling fat, warm and content. Lucinda had wrapped some hot stones in a horse blanket and put them by my feet, so even my toes were comfortable. After a while, I shook the peaceful feeling off and saddled up.

We made good time for the next ten days. I estimated we drove the cattle around three hundred and fifty miles by the time we reached Scottsburg, which was located at the northern end of California. I held the cattle up a mile out of town and went into town in the wagon. I asked Lucinda to stay with the herd. I might as well have been talking to a stump.

There was a low-slung log building standing along-side the road underneath some tall pines. It was a small place with nothing fancy about it. The kerosene lanterns barely glowed through the cow intestine stretched over wooden frames that passed for windows. I tied the horse up at the hitching post, helped Lucinda down and went inside. Two miners were sitting at one of the tables. A fat man with a greasy apron stood behind the plank bar. For a moment, I wished I had brought Juan. However, I guessed we could order dinner without getting our throats cut or robbed at gunpoint.

As I pulled out the chair for Lucinda, a tall man dressed in buckskins came out of the shadows. He was at least six feet four inches tall and was thin as a rail. He sported a full head of white hair and a mouth full of chew.

"You be the one in charge of the cowboy crew that's bringing those four hundred heifers to Oregon?"

I stood up and extended my hand, giving him my name and introducing Lucinda. After looking down his nose for a long moment, he shook my hand and introduced himself as William Dodge.

"Do you have the funds I was promised?" he asked.

"Back at the herd. Half now, half later."

"I've been hired to give advice. Here are two pieces of advice for you, and the little lady. First, don't order the pork. The pork has been hanging on the hook a little too long so order the beef steak. The second piece of advice is to hurry up and eat whatever you order, because we leave after dinner."

"Are you drunk?" Lucinda asked.

The tall man regarded her. There weren't many women in California and absolutely none who looked like Lucinda. Dodge appeared to be trying to absorb her beauty into his very core, like someone who is cold, trying to absorb the sun. After a moment he turned around and dragged a chair over to the table, sat down and turned to me.

"You took your time getting here, you're late. You were supposed to be here five days ago. Late in the mountains can be fatal. Now this Don Topo, who I have never met, offered me an extra hundred dollars if I can get these cattle through the mountains and down to the country he bought without losing more than ten head. I intend to do that if I can, but you are going to have to let me help you. By help you, I mean do what I advise."

The fat man with the greasy apron came over and said he had beef steak if we wanted to order some. He asked if we would like whiskey or wine. Lucinda asked for wine.

"Don't you think traveling in the dark might be dangerous?" I asked our erstwhile pathfinder.

"Child, I'll tell you what's dangerous. Dangerous is having these cattle ball up in a snowstorm, lay down and freeze to death in their tracks. Dangerous is when one of your men dies twenty feet from the camp because it's snowing so hard he can't find the fire. Who is this Don Topo anyways?"

"I don't care for your tone," Lucinda said.

Dodge seemed to think any comment made by Lucinda was a ticket to stare at her for a minute or two, which he did. He then turned to me.

"Don Topo understands how dangerous a snowstorm can be. You don't, or you wouldn't have been five days late. There is a meadow about twenty miles up the road with some feed on it. We let the cattle eat for a day and get full. After that there ain't nothing but swift streams, granite rocks and pine trees for thirty-five miles until we get through the passes. If we don't get snowed on, that's three days your cattle will go without feed. If we do get snowed on, it will take five days and that's when they start laying down and dying. Now, either you finish your meal and we mount up, or you can go at your own pace without me."

"Is there water along our route?" I asked.

"Up here there is always enough water to drown in," Dodge replied and stood up from the table.

We finished our meal and went back to the herd, Lucinda cursing under her breath the whole way. I got the hands up and we drove the cattle through the moonlit night, getting to the meadow at ten the next morning. There wasn't much feed but it was a big meadow. After we set up camp, we split the watch and everybody who wasn't holding the heifers went to sleep.

An hour before dawn, Dodge shook me awake.

"Get your crew up and let's get on the trail," he said in a less than charming voice.

I got up and almost ran into Lucinda as she was coming out of the tent. She neglected to say good morning, went to the fire and started the coffee. The other members of the crew awoke and went about gathering and saddling the horses without comment.

Overnight, the weather had turned colder. The feed in the meadow seemed to have done the heifers good because they dropped their heads and walked out without a problem. We started into the mountains in silence with nary a whoop or holler. Dodge and I rode ahead to make sure the cattle didn't turn up the wrong canyon. The herd was trail broke enough that they strung out and followed the leaders without incident. When we stopped for the evening, there was no feed for the cattle but plenty of water from the mountain streams. Cattle, like people, can go longer without food than they can without water. I had no idea how many miles we traveled. The country had become steep enough so that Dodge said we would have to leave the wagon. We had run out of grease for the axel and one of the wheels was about to fall off anyway. A wagon was worth a good deal of money and I wished I had sold it to some settlers before we got into the mountains. We carried enough grain in the wagon to give the horses a good ration that night. After that, we would put everything on pack horses.

The following morning, the cattle were drained of energy. Several head refused to get up. The vaqueros had to get off their horses and twist the heifer's tails until they scrambled to their feet. Traveling over sharp rocks without any grazing was not a good combination and even the strong heifers didn't want to take the trail. After much yelling and whooping, the Castro boys got them started up the trail. It was slow going and hard work for the horses, the cattle and the vaqueros. The Castro brothers were tough, but had never been in the mountains or suffered from the mountain cold. The fifteen year old boy who aspired to be a reins-man was standing, looking at the fire, too cold to move. I gently moved him until he started to walk on his own.

That night the wind howled and the temperature dropped. We were camped near a creek and the roar of the water was nearly as loud as the wind coming down through the canyons.

The huge fire we built didn't seem to help with the cold. I could feel the ice form on my sparse beard. The men had taken to wearing their blankets over their coats and no one removed their gloves, even to eat. While I was pitching the tent, Lucinda sidled up next to me and grabbed my arm.

"Sleep in the tent tonight, Charlie," she said in a low voice. Her lips looked blue.

"Are we husband and wife again?" I asked.

"It's so cold. I would be warmer if you slept with me," she said.

"I had better stay out here where I can hear what's going on with the cattle," I said.

"Where are the cattle going to go? Many of them won't stand up now," she replied.

"It isn't good if I sleep in the tent and everybody else sleeps outside," I said.

"You're the boss, Charlie. You sleep where you want," she said.

"Sleeping in the tent with Monterey's most beautiful woman isn't exactly leading by example."

Her eyes narrowed and she shook her head.

"This is no time to be impertinent. I am so cold it hurts."

"Can I share something with you?" I asked.

She stayed silent, glaring at me in the fading light.

"I am truly worried."

Through her shivers, Lucinda spit out, "Is there anything that doesn't make you truly worried?"

I glanced down at her. We were so frozen we could barely form our words.

"Yesterday I didn't feel my feet until noon. Tomorrow morning the horses will start a long day with no grass and no grain in their bellies. The cattle are so sore footed they may lay down and not get up. There is no way it could be any colder. Dodge says the weather is changing. He smells a storm and I can see that if we get a deep snow up here we could lose all the cattle. We could lose the crew and our horses. Even if we don't all die, I don't want to go back to Monterey to tell Don Topo his cattle are dead. Tomorrow will be the big push to get down off the mountain."

"What does this have to do with where you sleep?"

"If I want to call on the last bit of strength that the Castro brothers and Juan possess, then I need to sleep on the ground just like they are, and not take comfort in a tent with you."

"You're doing this because I hurt your feelings." Lucinda pouted.

"Of course, it is really all about you. The part about needing everybody to give it their all was something I made up. I was also fooling about a snowstorm killing us and the cattle," I said, trying to keep my teeth from chattering.

Lucinda looked at me before putting her gloved hand on my chest.

"If we die tomorrow, wouldn't you feel better about it if you had spent your last night with me?"

I reached out and brought her body close to my chest, kissed her forehead, then turned away.

"Charlie," she said.

I turned around to face her. When Lucinda wasn't angry or involved in doing something dangerous, she looked almost delicate. She wrapped her arms around herself.

"You won't let us die."

I smiled at her through chattering teeth.

"No, Lucinda. I won't let us die."

"Even if it snows?"

"Even if it snows."

Scent of Tears

# Chapter Fifteen

As it often happens, the things you worry about the most, never come to pass. A storm blew in, but it came the morning after we got off the mountain. Once the cattle saw the green country and started downhill, they limped along at a respectable pace. At the lower elevation there was little snow and much rain. Of utmost importance to the success of our venture was the abundance of grass for the cattle and horses. It was a vibrant, green country with plenty of trees and streams.

Dodge guided us to an expansive meadow with sufficient feed to let the horses and cattle fill up after their struggle over the mountain pass. We rested for a day, shoeing horses when the rain stopped and sitting around a fire trying to keep warm when it didn't. Dodge cut some branches and laid them lean-to style so there was a leaky place to try and get out of the rain. He produced some cards, but I refused to release any of the gold I was carrying to the men. Now that we had made it to Oregon, I didn't need Gotch-Eyed Juan deciding Dodge was cheating him at poker and have the camp erupt in gunfire. Even with dried beans serving as chips, there was grumbling about the cards being marked. As I feared, Dodge was somewhat of a card sharp. Soon all the beans in camp were in his pocket. Lucinda made him give the beans back when she cooked dinner. The tall man's face fell when he handed them over.

The following morning the sun broke through. We were back in the saddle, pushing the cattle North, as Dodge pointed the way.

The country was not inhabited that I could tell. There were few obvious trails. We rode by one stone fireplace standing amid a burned-out cabin. Dodge shot a deer, so we ate venison. I was no fan of deer meat but it was a change. Having lived on deer for many years and in many locations, Dodge carried some seasoning that I had never tasted. The exotic seasoning greatly improved the taste of the meat, which was a good thing. On the second day after the mountain crossing, one of the pack horses bucked his pack saddle off for no apparent reason. The whole mess landed in the creek. Our flour got wet and in less than a day, became moldy. The sack containing the salt broke, so our salt supply was gone as well. In all of this rich forest green it looked like we were going to starve to death.

Lucinda didn't invite me into her tent again. The cold wasn't an issue as much as the rain. Two people in a wet tent didn't make the tent any less damp. The floor of the tent was as wet as the grass outside. Nobody's bedroll or blankets ever seemed to dry out.

We pushed on for five days making good time. On the evening of the fifth day, two Indians came out of the trees just before dark. Dodge didn't seem alarmed and said he had seen their shadows long before they came to parley. Dodge walked off to where they were standing and talked with them for a good half an hour. When he came back, he motioned me over. Lucinda saw this and came over to put her two cents in. By this time Dodge had stopped ogling her. He also seemed to understand the impossibility of giving Lucinda orders, so he only glared at her when she came up to our strategy session.

"They want five head of cattle to let us pass without trouble," Dodge said.

"That seems a little rich," I replied.

"They'll take one animal and be grateful for it," Lucinda said.

Dodge stepped back and rubbed his shoulders against a large redwood.

"Maybe, they'll take twenty-five heifers when we are asleep, or butcher us and take them all," Dodge said as he finished scratching his back on the tree bark.

"You are carrying a Henry Rifle. Gotch Eyed Juan is a dead shot. The Castro brothers have rifles and I have a shotgun. We can deal with a few Indians."

Dodge raised an eyebrow.

"How many Indians are we dealing with?" he asked.

"Why would I know? You are the Indian..."

Dodge rudely interrupted her, "See, that is the point. I don't know how many Indians there are out there. That makes me think we should offer them three heifers and hope for the best. Does this Spanish Hellcat make the decisions for this outfit?"

Dodge fixed me with his mountain man stare then repeated himself.

"Does this Spanish hellcat make the decisions for this outfit?"

"If you want to take over cooking for the camp and you think it will do any good, tell her she has to be quiet. I would be interested to see how that works out," I replied. At this, Dodge rolled his eyes.

After a heated debate, Dodge and Lucinda agreed on two head, which Dodge cut out and delivered to the Indians before dark. I wondered how many miles away our destination was. I also wondered how many Indians I was dealing with and if there would be any cattle left come Spring.

Dodge came back and sat down next to me by the fire.

"Those are Modocs out there. It's hard to tell with Indians, but I believe they were upset by the short count. They didn't have any firearms that I could see, but we need to be out of here soon as we can get the cattle started."

The following day, when we got out of our bedrolls, we were greeted by a heavy fog. Fog seemed to be a normal occurrence on Oregon mornings. This mist was so heavy I couldn't see past my horse's ears. I circled the cattle three times before I decided some had drifted off. Dodge had ridden ahead to find a crossing for one of the rivers we still faced. Riding further away from the herd, I saw some cattle tracks and started up a draw when I heard a muffled yelp. I reined Luna up and strained my ears. I heard a full blown scream that could have only come from Lucinda.

I had not ridden Luna when we went through the mountain pass, in the hopes I could keep her fresh if I got in a jam. I didn't want to ask for her courage and agility if she was worn out. Having decided the herd was free of foreseeable problems, I saddled her that morning, and now, was damn glad I did. When the scream rang out I headed back to the camp as fast as my horse could carry me. Despite the poor visibility, Luna knew she was headed toward the other horses. She opened up into a full run over the uncertain footing on the wet grass and fallen logs. For a minute all I could hear was the soft clods of dirt that Luna was throwing up behind her, as she dug her hooves into the turf.

As we blew into the camp, I saw shadowy figures locked in battle. Two Indians were on Gotch-Eyed Juan, knives flashing. The fifteen-year-old Castro boy lay face down on the ground with an ever-widening pool of blood spreading out from his head. I started to rein Luna in so I could fight the Indians off Juan, when I saw two more figures wrestling Lucinda up onto a horse. As I brought Luna to a stop, one of the Indians leaped up behind her and whipped the horse away from the camp. I changed directions and opened Luna up in pursuit. I could barely see them through the fog, which caused me to lift my romal to over and under my mare. Luna was such a willing animal I had never put the whip to her before. She brought out another level of speed I didn't know she had. Behind me I heard the roar of Dodge's Henry Rifle as he opened up. Something zipped through the leaves and branches and I realized it was a bullet from the heavy rifle. I had a momentary picture of Dodge accidentally shooting my horse out from under me with the Henry.

Gaining on the Indian and Lucinda, I took down my riata and shook out a loop. Braided rawhide tends to kink when exposed to moisture and this rope was no different. As I swung the loop, it twisted and got caught on my stirrup. Cursing loudly, I had to reach down and free the rope. Luna seemed to know we were after the other horse. She stretched out and covered the ground while I got the riata coiled back up. Lucinda was fighting tooth and nail, scratching and elbowing her kidnapper's face. The brave was having a difficult time controlling the horse and keeping Lucinda's fingernails out of his eyes. She twisted around in the Indian's grasp and I saw her open her mouth wide to bite him. The Indian's horse was laboring under the weight of two bodies and Luna was closing the distance. I came into range and pitched a loop around both of them. The Indian felt the rope tightening around him, but his hands were full, grappling with Lucinda. I dallied and slowed Luna down enough to bring the rope tight then pulled them both of them off the horse, onto the ground.

I was off Luna and running toward the Indian before Luna had stopped her slide. The brave unsheathed his knife and cut my rope. Lucinda staggered away from him. I dropped down on my knees and picked up a rock. Getting back to my feet, I spun around, holding the rock at arm's length. The Modoc brandished the knife and I threw the fifteen pound rock overhand toward the center of his body. He put up his knife hand to ward off the blow and took the brunt of the rock on his wrist.

The knife flew from his hand. As he looked around to see where his knife went, I was on him. He was out of breath from fighting Lucinda and I was able to slip around behind him and get a forearm under his chin. He struggled like a madman as I tried to shut off his air. I would have choked the life out of him, but Lucinda saved me the trouble.

Most young women would have been hiding behind a tree, sobbing in fear and saying their prayers. Lucinda, however, searched out the knife and picked it up. She ran to us, raising the knife over her head. Using both hands, she drove it into the Indian's chest. She pulled the knife free and arching her back, stabbed him again. He was still struggling and I was afraid Lucinda would miss her target and accidentally stab me in her frenzy. She was pulling with all her might to get the knife out of the Indian's breastbone when I felt him go limp.

I rolled out from under him and had to drag her off of him. We both sat down on the ground wheezing. Thinking that there might be some more hostiles around, I stood up. I caught Luna and got the shotgun from its scabbard. I looked at the skyline and into the trees. Lucinda, watching me pick up the shotgun, got to her feet.

"I could have got loose by myself if you had given me five more seconds."

"Your gratitude is overwhelming."

She walked over to me and put her left arm around my neck, then drew her open mouth up to mine. Despite the bodies and the danger that might still be lurking in the brush, I responded to her. My arms went around her waist and I pulled her close to me.

"Charlie," she said.

"What?"

"I think my arm is broke," she said.

Letting her go, I stepped back and looked at her arm. The elbow was swollen so badly it stretched the fabric of her blouse. I gently helped her over to Luna and half lifted, half pushed her up on my horse. Luna looked around at me with a puzzled look on her face.

"Why is this silly mare looking at you?"

"Nobody else but me has ever been on her back. You should feel honored."

Lucinda laughed. Luna took a step and Lucinda's injured elbow swung loose, causing her to whistle through her teeth. I was shaking from what had happened, but kept moving. I led Luna and the Indian's horse back to camp. Gotch-Eyed Juan was laid out under a tree. He was still alive, but not by much. Dodge had dragged the three dead Indians a short way from the camp and left them in a row. The two Castro brothers had laid their cousin out and were using the short-handled camp shovel to dig a grave.

"Were those the Indians who thought they got shorted on the beef?" I asked.

"Sure were," Dodge said, giving Lucinda an accusatory look.

"Old man, they might still have attacked us if we gave them twenty-five head."

"They seemed pretty war-like," I said, looking at the blood that soaked Juan's jacket.

"Year or so ago the Modoc attacked an emigrant train near Tule Lake. Took a couple of young girls as hostage and killed the other sixty people in the train. I heard the Modoc women killed the two female captives because their good looks got them squaws jealous. You're pretty lucky your husband was mounted on a fast horse. Otherwise, you might have been entertaining some bucks tonight and be sold to slavers by the end of the month. Course, you are so God-awful mean they might have made you the chief or turned you lose to save themselves."

For once Lucinda was silent. She went over and knelt down beside Gotch-Eyed Juan, gently opening his coat and pulling his shirt aside so she could look at his wounds. His breathing was labored, but other than that, he made no sounds.

"I don't think Juan can ride," Lucinda said.

"Make up your mind, trail boss," Dodge said to her. "If we stay here and nurse the Mexican, those Modoc's might come back and kill us all."

I thought about the pickle we were in. Without the kid and Juan, we were shorthanded, whether it came to a fight or moving the cattle further North.

"You know how to sew someone up?" I asked Dodge.

"I kin sew a feller up when I have to."

"Then please stitch Juan's wounds closed and let's see how he does on a horse," I said.

"Waste of time. Those Modoc knives ain't too sanitary. He'll die of infection in a couple of days no matter what we do now."

"Californio's are tougher than you think. Get your herbs or whatever you famous scouts use to heal cuts and help me, " Lucinda said.

Lucinda and Dodge huddled over Juan. Dodge had some cat gut that he boiled in water. He then got out a needle and went to sewing the gunman's wounds closed. Half-way through, Lucinda told him he was a handless, awkward man. At that, Dodge got up and walked away. Lucinda took the needle and finished stitching the terrible knife wounds. I had never been more proud to be a Californio. The needle was dull and took some force to make it penetrate Juan's skin. Lucinda had difficulty getting her injured arm to cooperate. Yet Juan never uttered a sound, and Lucinda never turned away. Even though it made me queasy, I went over and helped with the stitches, feeling thankful that I had experience with an awl in repairing tack and sewing up horses who had been horned by wild cattle. Juan had six long slash marks from his neck to his belt and another puncture on his left thigh. The skin was laid open enough that the flaps twitched as I stitched them together. Juan finally passed out and the task was easier. Lucinda moved over and let Dodge pack a poultice on the wounds while she tore one of her skirts apart with her good arm. With my help, she wrapped the poultices in place. When we were done, it wasn't pretty but it was our best effort.

Dodge pointed at Lucinda's arm and after a moment's hesitation, she held it up for him to look at. He took out his knife and cut the sleeve away from the arm. Her elbow was swollen larger than I thought possible. Dodge prodded it a little and asked her to bend it. She tried and then let it hang limp. Her nostrils flared but other than that, you would never know she was badly hurt.

"Looks like you dislocated your elbow. I don't think it's broken." Dodge reached up and untied the neckerchief I wore around my neck. After looking at Lucinda for a moment, he raised his eye brows. She nodded and he tied her elbow to her waist to keep it immobile.

The Castro brothers finished burying their cousin in the soft, wet dirt of the Oregon forest. Lucinda went to her bedroll and came back with a Bible. She stood over the grave and said a long sentence in Latin, made the sign of the cross, then nodded at the brothers. Dodge piled rocks on the grave so the animals wouldn't dig up the boy's body. After a moment , I joined in. Soon all that could be seen was a pile of rocks. All of this was done with no words. After these duties were finished, the vaqueros lifted Juan onto his horse and strapped him on as best they could. We mounted our horses and went to moving the cattle up the trail.

Scent of Tears

# Chapter Sixteen

We had no further Indian problems, but by the time we arrived at where we were going, my neck was sore peering behind every bush and tree. And a man can ride carrying a shotgun if he is scared enough.

Juan didn't die on the final push to Don Topo's Oregon ranch. He looked dead, but he was still breathing and opening his eyes every now and then. The wounds putrefied and pus drained out like water being poured from a boot. His fever kept getting worse. He couldn't keep food down and could barely drink. Somehow, he drew on a wellspring of innate toughness and didn't die.

At the ranch, if you could call it a ranch, there was an abandoned shack with a lean-to attached to the side. Chipmunks, rats and mice had made free use of the cabin. At some point a skunk had doused the four walls, but it wasn't bad. After you were inside the cabin for an hour or two, you could almost control the gag reflex.

The brothers and I swept out the cabin as best we could, then got Juan down off his horse and laid him on a rickety rawhide-laced bed. The next half hour was spent trying to get the water pump to work. Failing to do that, we drew some water from a nearby creek and packed it to the cabin. Then we chopped some firewood for the stove and fireplace.

Lucinda unloaded the pack animals and prepared to cook the evening meal. I rode out with the Castro brothers to try get a count on how many of the heifers had made the trip. We came up with three hundred and ninety-one. I knew two had been given to the Indians, one had drowned in a river crossing, one had been killed by a bear, and six more had wandered off and froze to death in the mountain pass. If my count was right, then Dodge would get his bonus.

That night, we had a big pow wow sitting on the small porch outside the cabin. I left the door open so Gotch-Eyed Juan could hear what was being said. The Castro brothers sat off to the side. As always, Lucinda was front and center, fully armed with her opinions. I waited for a moment, looking out over the green meadow to the snow topped mountains. We sure weren't in Monterey. As beautiful as Oregon was, I found myself sick with longing for the California coast. Being homesick wouldn't help the immediate problems.

"How far is a settlement where we can procure supplies?" I asked Dodge.

"Fifty mile, give or take," he replied.

"How far is Portland?" I asked.

"About a week's ride, depending on how hard you want to push your horses.

"How available is a berth on a ship going to Monterey?"

Dodge leaned over and spit a stream of tobacco juice.

"What the hell do I look like, child? I'm a mountain man, not a ship's steward. I guess they have the lumber ships sailing every day, but whether it's to Peru or China I couldn't say. If you go to that fair city, stay out of the Stumptown grog houses or you may wake up with blurry vision in the hold of a ship headed for who knows where. So many men get drugged and shanghaied in Portland, it ain't even safe to drink the water, let alone the whiskey."

I drew myself up to my full height and slowly looked around the room. Nobody was going to like what I had to say.

"Mr. Dodge can ride to the settlement and buy some supplies. When he returns I'll escort Lucinda to Portland where she can embark for Monterey. The brothers will stay at the ranch and nurse Juan until I can get back."

There were dark looks all around. Dodge hadn't agreed to bring any supplies, the Castro brothers hadn't intended to stay in Oregon and Lucinda wasn't looking for a tough horseback ride over unfamiliar territory with a swollen elbow. Juan was just happy to keep breathing, so nothing I said bothered him.

"What if Mr. Dodge takes his bonus and meanders on up north to hunt beaver like he intended?" Dodge asked.

"You can go hunt beaver. The money you were promised stays here until we get the supplies laid in," I said.

"Just a minute, Charlie. That wasn't the deal."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lucinda draw in a breath. I shot her a look and prayed she would have enough sense not to antagonize Dodge. She caught my look and remained quiet. I turned and addressed Dodge.

"I would have sent Juan for supplies, but he can't travel. I don't intent to let these cattle get driven off by Indians or drift off on their own until I understand the country. Some local men are supposed to be coming over with some bulls Topo bought. However, I have to find them and notify them we are here. Everyone here feels like their belly is kissing their back bone. I don't think I have a choice but to send you for supplies. I want to know you will come back. I will give you the bonus when you return. That is my final word on the subject."

Dodge stood away from the porch, drew a deep breath and looked at his Henry Rifle leaning against the cabin wall. Lucinda got up and moved to the saddles lying on the ground. She glanced at the short barreled shotgun in its scabbard.

"Now hold on, you poisonous Spanish bitch. Stay away from that damn scatter gun," Dodge said. "I knowed it was you who buried that knife in that Injun from the blood on your sleeves. I had to pull like the devil to get the blade out where you stuck it in his breastbone. I know what you're capable of. Just stay clear of that shotgun."

I didn't think Dodge would pull a gun on me to get his money. I also didn't believe Lucinda would shoot him, but violence seemed to develop quickly on this trip. I stepped between them.

"We can't let the boys taking care of the cattle starve, and we are out of salt and coffee. I would appreciate your continued help," I said.

"I've never run out on anyone I shared the trail with. I'll go get the supplies, it just wasn't part of the deal."

"Well, our business is settled then. We had better turn in."

Dodge muttered a good deal under his breath. The rest of the crew went and fixed their bed rolls.

Dodge left the next morning before daylight with a list that Lucinda and the Castro's had drawn up. I gave him twice as much money as the supplies should have cost. I had no idea what the prices were at the settlement. I took one of the rifles and went hunting with no luck. Lucinda took the shotgun over to a small lake and came back with a duck, which she plucked and roasted over a spit. Without salt, the duck wasn't very tasty. However, being hungry, we appreciated Lucinda's efforts. At the end of the meal, Lucinda took some fat from the duck and make a broth for Juan. To everyone's surprise, he kept it down.

I spent the next two days riding around the country, trying to figure out where the boundaries were. On the second day, I found the ranch that sold Topo the bulls and arranged to receive them.

On the third day, Dodge returned with the supplies. I made him draw out a detailed map to Portland. Then I gave him the gold Topo had promised him. I told the Castro brothers if my mare, Luna, was healthy and the heifers were accounted for, when I returned, I would give them four of my geldings. That brightened them up considerably.

I drew Dodge to the side when Lucinda was busy doing something else.

"What are the chances those Indians will be back for the cattle?"

Dodge scratched his jaw and spit some chew. "You may lose a few this winter but the Indians around here are done. One more dose of Smallpox or Cholera and they will be like smoke in the wind. This year, or the next, the white man's sickness will have done what the army can't. I guess that is a good thing, because there isn't much in the way of army troops up here and the ones stationed in the area don't know the country," he said.

He looked down on me, and drew his lips back from his teeth. It was what passed for a smile from Dodge.

"I came upon a chest of books some wagon train traveler abandoned on the trail west. I put them in a cave, out of the weather. When I get around to it, I'll bring them to you. Unless you have something to do, sitting in a cabin in the winter can be hard on your nerves.'

I thanked him for thinking of me. He continued to stare at me with a pained expression.

"You ain't a bad child, Charlie. You didn't weaken when we drove those cattle through the mountains. You never hesitated when the Indians came to call. It is none of my business, but, cause I like you, I'll say it anyway. You need to be careful around that girl. She has the scent of tears about her."

"She isn't a bad woman."

"I killed a man over a woman like her thirty years ago. It's why I hang my hat in Oregon rather than New York. Make sure that doesn't happen to you."

While I thought his comment odd at the time, I didn't take offense. We shook hands and Dodge continued on his journey North.

The following morning, Lucinda and I took two saddle horses and one pack horse. We left the charming little compound and headed for Portland. We traveled hard because I wanted to get Lucinda on a ship and get back to the cattle with more supplies. I spent the night having nightmares about the various ways Topo's heifers could disappear into the Oregon fog.

Oregon was beautiful in its own way. It was green and wet. There was fog in the morning and sometimes rain in the afternoon, then the nights would be clear. I pushed our horses hard toward Portland. Lucinda never complained about the pace. She also made no comment about her arm, though each morning she did ask me to tie my neckerchief around her elbow so she could keep it still.

On the day we came to a sure enough wagon road, Lucinda pulled up and massaged her elbow. We had been traveling at a trot the whole morning and the horses welcomed the rest.

"You will accompany me to Monterey," Lucinda said, as a statement of fact rather than a question that would acknowledge I might have some thoughts on the subject.

"I had not planned on it. I want to get back to the cattle," I replied. We hadn't talked much on the trip and her commanding tone surprised me.

"You are so worried about the cattle. Maybe you should worry about putting me alone on a ship full of strangers," she said.

"I considered that. I expect the sailors are big strong men who can take care of themselves."

"You joke at my expense?" she said.

"Who's joking? I can't imagine a more dangerous woman than you."

"Even if you don't want to see me home safely, or you are afraid of the ocean, you need to talk to my father. You need to let him know what has happened and find out what he wants to do. You need to get more money from him. You need to see what he has in mind if the bulls are not delivered and set up some sort of communication with him for the coming year."

"I told the Castro brothers I would be back. They are expecting me and I don't want to let them down. Besides, I would hate to think their nephew got killed for nothing, which would be the case if we lose the cattle," I replied. I got off my horse, turned my back and relieved myself. I had quit sneaking around behind a tree halfway through the trip. I figured there ought to be one advantage to being legally married. There didn't seem to be many others.

"The boy was killed, and that is a shame, but death is part of life out here. The cattle are not that important. They are only a way for my father to make money. Don't make it more than that," she replied.

"You can tell Don Topo everything he needs to know. He can write me a letter. Thanks to you, I can nearly read enough to cypher what he says." I fastened my fly, satisfied I had countered her reasons to return to Monterey. Of course, Lucinda had one more compelling argument.

She climbed down off her horse. Lucinda still went behind the trees to relieve herself. When she returned, she stretched her legs by taking a hold of the saddle horn with her good arm and bending forward. She removed the cap from one of the wooden canteens that hung on her saddle horn and took a drink, then stepped away from the horse and looked up at me.

"Come on the ship with me, Charlie. We can let God, rather than my father, decide if we should be husband and wife."

"How does that work?" I said and laughed at her unexpected pronouncement.

"You want me, Charlie. You always have. Am I wrong?"

"That aside, how does God decide for us?"

"If I get pregnant, then God means for us to be together. If I don't, then it wasn't meant to be."

"Don't women get pregnant when they sleep with men?"

"I don't intend to sleep very much."

She gave me an alluring smile while she waited for what she had said to sink in.

"Are you sure you don't want to go with me on the sailing ship? It might be better than you have imagined and I know you have imagined it a lot."

"If you feel that way, why wait till we get aboard a ship?" I asked, truly mystified.

"I need a bath and to buy some decent undergarments. I want expensive perfume to put on my breasts and behind my ears. I am not a savage. I need a clean wooden floor to walk on and a bed and a bowl of water to wash in. Also, a few more days for my elbow to heal so I don't scream in pain when you are deep inside me."

This was making me dizzy.

"I still don't understand. Why now? Anytime during the cattle drive, or back at the Chualar Cabin would have been fine with me. In the middle of a rainstorm or the fight with the Indians would have been fine with me. I don't care how much dirt you had under your fingernails or how long it had been since you changed your laundry. None of that would have mattered."

"It matters to me, Charlie. In this instance, that is everything."

I crawled back on my horse, fully disgusted at my rising excitement.

"Why is it what you want, is the only thing that matters? There may be more difficult women in the world, but I hope I never meet one."

"You got those men to do what you wanted. You rescued me from the Indians, Charlie. That changed things. I can't keep from thinking about the way you killed the Indian when you were defending me."

Once again, Lucinda had forgot what actually happened. My exasperation bubbled over.

"Remember the conversation in the tent when I was sick? What about the many reasons you didn't want me?"

"Women change their minds. You have been panting and lusting after me since we were children. Are you going to give up just as I surrender?" she said grinning.

"There was no panting and damn little lusting," I lied. "Have you ever asked nicely for something?"

"When it comes to men, I've never needed to. Will you escort me to Monterey or not?" she asked. She knew I would and I didn't understand her charade.

"I'll let you know when we get to Portland," I replied and started the horse down the trail. She played along with my effort to retain some self-respect.

"You are very strong, Charlie. Most men would jump at my offer," I heard her say. Most of the time I helped Lucinda get on her horse, but now I was afraid to get that close to her after our conversation. I heard her grunt as she mounted.

"I would like to think I am not most men. Anyway, you will probably get me shanghaied onto a ship that sails to Monterey by way of Valparaiso," I said, and kicked my horse into a trot.

Scent of Tears

# Chapter Seventeen

Several rivers converge before you get to Portland, looking like a portrait, rather than a scene in nature. In the background is a towering snowcapped mountain and then the ocean. It was like nothing I had ever seen. Lucinda also seemed awe struck and speechless for a moment at the grandeur of the powder puff clouds and white peaks.

We rode into the bustling center of Portland. Everything seemed to be under construction. There were wagons filled with building supplies everywhere. Stacks of lumber were set alongside the streets and alleys. Most of the men scurrying looked to be involved in the erection of wooden buildings.

I was debating on whether to sell the three horses or board them until I could get back to Portland. At some point, Lucinda's comment about not sleeping much on the voyage back to Monterey overcame my desire to get back to the herd. Now it was a matter of money. Lucinda wanted to see the town, or at least see the linen, perfume and shoe shops before we boarded the ship. I suggested she take her elbow to the doctor. Lucinda informed me that if the doctors in Portland were as drunk as the doctors in Monterey, a bottle of horse liniment would be more restorative. The excitement of a new city lessened her concern for her elbow to the extent she didn't ask me to help her with a sling.

I found a barn to put the horses in and a hotel with a bath house so Lucinda could take a bath. She announcing she was throwing her old clothes away, and, after careful instruction regarding color and size, sent me to buy a new dress. I found and purchased the dress as ordered, taking it back to the hotel. I then inquired about the price of passage to Monterey. After adding up the cost of the tickets for the voyage down the coast and the price of the hotel, the air went out of me. It was evident that even with the sale of the three horses, we were going to come up short of being able to afford the kind of shopping spree Lucinda had planned on.

After her bath Lucinda was energized. It was if she had never made a forced horseback ride across Oregon. I expressed my concern that we might be underfunded for her shopping excursion. Instead of throwing a fit she smiled and bade me to accompany her to the wharf after I had bathed.

I was in the big tub when Lucinda walked in with a shaving mug and a razor.

"Should I leave the beard and mustache?" she asked.

"As you think best," I said, conscious of my nakedness under the water. In a very businesslike way, Lucinda shaved off my thin beard with her straight razor, leaving the mustache. She washed my hair with some shampoo she had gotten from the front desk then combed it back. After all of this was done, she held up a mirror in front of my face. It was one of the first times I had ever looked at myself in a decent mirror in the daylight.

"Leave your hair long, Charlie. It hides your ears."

She stood back and gave me an appraising look as she cupped her injured elbow with her hand.

"Once, at the mission in San Jose I saw a painting of the savior. With your hair washed, and your face free of dirt, you resemble the figure in that painting. Did Jesus have green eyes, Charlie?" Lucinda said and quickly kissed me on the lips. I rose from the tub as she skipped out the door, laughing. I put on the clean clothes I had bought along with the dress and walked out the door of the bathhouse after her.

Lucinda took my arm and held it against her high, firm breast. It was a cool day with a slight breeze bringing the smell of the ocean. I had no idea where Lucinda was going, but it didn't matter. We walked down the rough planks, providing a way to stay out of the mud. It was the first time I could remember she had taken my arm. Thinking about the other things she had promised me, I was walking on air. I couldn't remember why I was ever angry with her in the first place.

We finally arrived at the Boch Lumber Company Offices at the end of Jefferson Street on the waterfront. Lucinda marched in like we owned the place and asked to speak to Mr. Boch. The clerk at the front desk got up and went to fetch him.

"Good morning, Mr. Boch. I am Lucinda Topo Horn, the daughter of Don Topo of Monterey. This is my husband, Charles Horn. You were at our home many years ago. It is very good to see you again." Her smile was very sincere and warm.

The portly, balding man stumbled over himself to shake her hand and was rewarded with a brief hug. When she finally let him go the old gentleman looked like he was in a state of shock. I smiled and wondered what the small embrace and quick whiff of perfume was going to cost him.

"We are looking for transportation. If I remember correctly, one of the many business interests controlled by you involves shipping lumber to Monterey. We are in need of passage and I was wondering if you could accommodate us?" she said and gave the old boy another brilliant smile.

"Count on me to see to your needs, Madame. How is your father? We have done much business in the past. I always considered Don Topo a valuable friend."

He wanted to know why we were in Oregon and what else he could do to help. He absolutely insisted we join him at the Columbia House that evening for dinner. After a few more smiles from Lucinda, he said that steerage accommodations was available to us at no charge. He could do no less for the daughter of his old friend. Lucinda asked where the best shops were to be found in Portland and the jolly old buzzard told her in some detail where she might spend our money.

Boch told her to sit right there while he sent for his carriage to take us around town. He gave her the address of his house and said to pick him up when it came time for dinner. Soon, a black carriage with a matched team of tall black horses pulled up to the front of the office. The old man gave the driver orders to take the young lady where she wanted to go.

Lucinda escorted me back to the barn. There I arranged to sell my geldings and store our saddles until we could load them on the ship. In the meantime, Lucinda went to find dress shops to spend the money I received through the sale of my prized horses.

That night at dinner, I had to admit the money was well spent. Lucinda's hair was fixed so it spilled down her neck into a shining jumble of curls. Her eyes had never looked more blue, her skin had never been more radiant. She drank and laughed. Neither I or the owner of the ocean-going lumber freighter could take our eyes off her. At the end of the dinner, Boch took us back to our hotel where we gathered Lucinda's new purchases, our saddles and tack. The lumber ship was sailing on the tide with a load of lumber for San Francisco and wheat for Monterey.

The docks were alive with the sound of water slapping against the hulls and the never ending creaks and groans of the wooden ships flexed with the tidal surge. The tall masts shifted gently in the moonlight. A small breeze fluttered the sails. With nearly uncontainable excitement, I hauled the chest Lucinda had bought in the city. She couldn't get the other items she had found into the trunk, so it was two trips before I had everything stowed in our cabin. After a heartfelt goodbye, our host struggled back into his carriage and rolled into the night.

Like children playing in the dark, Lucinda and I hurried below deck and went into our berth. She lit the lamp. The light flickered on the walls, creating shadows that shifted with the rocking of the ship.

"Take off your clothes," she commanded.

"Take off yours," I said, proud that my voice didn't crack. I was expecting an argument but, without hesitation, Lucinda removed her blouse and skirt, then her silk undergarments until she was naked, save for her button up shoes. She reclined on the bed and I thought I was going to faint.

She was not voluptuous, probably because she had been eating a very limited diet and had spent the last month horseback. Still, she was so well proportioned that her body was breathtaking. The muscles played out in her shoulders, her neck and her stomach as she squirmed around on the bed striking several poses while she laughed at me.

"Are you going to stand there with your mouth open or are you going to let me look at you as well?"

I tried to take my boots off without sitting down which nearly caused me to fall. Finally, I sat on the bed and taking several deep breaths, successfully pulled them off, followed by my new pants, long johns and shirt until I was naked as well.

"Come here, Charlie, and let us forget the hardships we have faced."

"Your elbow will be alright?"

Lucinda looked at her arm and moved her elbow a few degrees.

"I don't need both elbows to make you forget the cold and hunger of the cattle drive."

She was as good as her word. I quickly recovered after an embarrassing start, then slowly and wonderfully, new worlds were opened up to me. Had the ship sunk in the next hour, I wouldn't have noticed. We finally lay exhausted in the small bunk.

"What are my faults, Charlie?" she asked, out of the blue.

I had hopes of repeating what had just happened a dozen more times before we docked in Monterey so I was hesitant to explain Lucinda's shortcomings.

"Come on, Charlie. I know you are often upset with me, even though you have no reason to be. I am curious. What are my faults?"

"You are brave. You can ride for a longer distance without complaint than anyone I know."

She hit me in the shoulder with her fist.

"Those aren't faults. Do you want me to tell you your faults?"

"No," I blurted, wondering why she couldn't lay there in the afterglow, murmuring soft words of endearment if that was what she felt or at least make something up if she didn't.

"Answer my question," she said.

"You sit a horse better than I do. You rope with great skill and you are very accurate with a shotgun."

"I am trying to be serious."

I waved my hand around the room and then pointed at Lucinda.

"I have wanted this since I was twelve. Why would I say something that might upset you now?"

I looked down at where our feet were entangled. Lucinda had large, well defined feet. Her foot was nearly as long as mine. Suddenly, she jabbed her elbow into my ribs and I yelped.

"You think my feet are too big?"

"I didn't say anything."

"But you compared yours with mine and started to smile," she said.

"I am really not trying to upset you."

"You are worried I didn't like what happened between us just now?" she asked.

"No, I think you liked it fine. I also believe you like to argue. One might get in the way of the other," I replied.

"So you just want to resume rutting?" she said.

"Of course but it is more than that, and you know it. The sight of you has always caused me to catch my breath. I find it hard to form words when you are looking at me. After this night, all I want out of life is to smell your hair and your skin and feel your body pressed against mine. The feelings I have for you frighten me."

"Why would you be afraid to love me?"

"Because you are never going to ask me before you do something. You are never going to concern yourself with how I feel. You play with me like Luna toys with a cow, jumping back and forth, confusing me with every move."

"I had no idea you put so much thought into this, Charlie."

"I had the whole trip from Monterey to Oregon to think about it."

"So I have big feet and I am a selfish woman who does not take your feelings into account?"

I sat up straighter in the bed and pulled the bedding up over my stomach. I would no doubt spend the rest of the voyage sleeping on the floor of the cabin.

Lucinda stared at me with her eyes narrowed and her mouth in a frown. Then she laughed, jumped up from the bed and went to her packages stacked in the corner. Tearing into one of the packages, she brought back a large purple silk scarf and an inlaid silver keeper to hold the scarf at my throat. She laid those out on the bed and returned to her stack of boxes. She retrieved a flat brimmed black hat with a silver hat band. Lucinda threw the hat at me and laughed when I caught it.

"So you wanted me to say something bad about you so I would feel embarrassed when you gave me my gifts?"

"Did it work?" she said and laughed again. She reached up, put the hat on my head and then pulled it down.

"You misunderstood when your sisters called you a witch. That wasn't the word they used."

Lucinda held up her finger and wagged it in my face to discourage comment. Once more, she bounded off the bed and rummaging around in her trunk. Giving a sharp cry of satisfaction, Lucinda straightened up and whirled around. In her hand was a small dagger the approximate size of the one I had lost in the creek when she nearly drowned. She held it out to me and I took it. The knife had a bone handle and silver filigree engraved in the iron blade. It occurred to me that she had spent more on my gifts than she had on herself. I was speechless.

"It won't have the significance to you your father's knife held, but it is from me. I give it to you from my heart. I owe you my life, Charlie."

I shook my head in wonder. Lucinda looked at me and smiled.

"I have more gifts and surprises for you, Charlie, but none that come in a box. You are a very lucky man. You have me trapped in this small cabin. Give me a minute."

Lucinda rolled off the bed and fetched the bed pan, squatted and peed. The sight of her body hunched over the bed pan, muscles bunched up in her strong thighs caused the breath to catch in my throat. She wiped herself, never taking her eyes from mine. She climbed back on the bunk and hovered over me, balancing on her knees. She dropped her face down onto my neck and began licking and softly biting the skin on my neck. Her fingernails brushed my ribs and chest. For a moment I visualized her doing the same thing to Tiburcio, but then her smell and the sensations she was sending through my body enveloped me. I was again lost inside her, a place I would have stayed forever if I could.

When I finally did sleep it seemed like the whole ordeal of fighting the Indians, driving the cattle through the mountain pass and exploring previously unknown carnal ecstasies with Lucinda caught up with me. I awoke with no idea what time it was or where I was. I reached over on the bed. Lucinda was gone. I lay there for a moment then pulled on my pants and shirt. Outside, was a narrow hallway that led down to a communal bathroom with running water. The stink that all wooden ships have permeated my nostrils and I wondered why I had not smelled it before. It was exceedingly dim in the hallway but I could see one of the younger sailors leaning against the bulkhead, waiting. Lucinda stepped out of the lavatory. She started to move past the sailor. He put his hand on her shoulder and murmured something in her ear. I felt for the knife on my belt and started down the hallway. Suddenly, a hand came up from behind the sailor and grasped his hair. The sailor's torso flew back then jerked forward. His head violently collided with a low bulk head.

A deep Irish brogue filled the cabin.

"Wouldn't it be nice, laddy, if Mr. Horn could enjoy the cruise with his young wife without interference? He would probably put that knife he's holding back into its sheath rather than in your gullet where it belongs," the gruff voice said. I looked past the addled sailor to see a man as wide as the corridor. He had hands the size of hams and forearms bigger than my calves. His voice was deep and scratchy.

The thick hand released it's hold on the hair and the sailor collapsed on the floor. A moment later he sat up, scrambled to his feet and moved off down the hallway. Lucinda slid past me, and to my surprise silently slipped back into our room.

"How do you know my name?" I asked.

"If you aren't Collander Horn's son, you sure ought to be. Ya look just like him," he said.

"You knew my father? Where is he?"

"I shipped with your father on many a voyage. We sailed on the clipper ship that still holds the record from Vera Cruz to Monterey. Sadly, your father died of the sickness in Panama, while bringing pilgrims to the gold fields in Sacramento. If you be Charlie, he had your name on his lips when he died. It's good to meet you, son," the burly old man said and stuck out a huge hand that I shook.

"I had better get back up on deck and continue my watch. I'll see you tomorrow. I have your father's watch and three Spanish gold pieces he said represented your mother, you and him. I'll give those to you when I see you in the morning."

Back in the cabin, I found Lucinda demurely sitting on the bunk. When she saw my face, her eyes widened.

"What is the matter, Charlie? I swear to you I only said hello to that ruffian. I simple exchanged pleasantries on deck. I had no idea he was going to follow me."

I took a seat on the single chair in the room.

"Charlie, what is it? You look like you have seen a ghost."

I studied Lucinda in the lamplight. Her bright, shining eyes seemed to inflate my chest.

"The big sailor told me my father was dead. I have lived in hope he would return for so long it is a shock to know the truth."

"At least you know for sure. I am sorry."

"I had always hoped he might come back," I said.

She smiled at me and slipped out of her dress. Her words were mocking, but her tone was as soft and sweet as I had ever heard.

"Come here, my little savior, and I will hold you close and make all of your sadness go away. I will keep you inside of me and rock you like the ocean rocks the ship till we reach Monterey."

For the rest of the voyage down the coast Lucinda fulfilled her promise. Her way of raising up and looking at whatever I was doing, then giving me a slow, approving smile has stayed with me ever after.

Scent of Tears

# Chapter Eighteen

The view sailing into the Monterey Bay was one I had never seen before. It was magnificent. I had been up at dawn, sitting on the bow of the ship. It was a thrill to watch the California coast slide by with its golden hills and stands of wind-shaped pines. A slight breeze barely stirred the flat ocean when the lumber ship dropped anchor. A rowboat was lowered. Lucinda and I were taken to shore with our belongings. Lugging Lucinda's many purchases, we walked from the dock up to the Topo house. I helped her wrestle them through the door. I then went to the barn where Don Topo kept his horses and arranged for our saddles to be picked up.

I couldn't help but stop and inhale the flowers and mild ocean breeze. It felt good to once again see the otters and seals lazing on the rocks in the Monterey harbor and smell the coastal pines.

Don Topo wasn't at home. The swamper at the barn guessed that he would be back in two days. I went back up to the house. Lucinda had insisted I wear my flowing silk scarf and new hat. Consequently, I got some odd looks from the denizens of Monterey who were up early. They were used to seeing me in a worn cotton shirt and stained grey slouch hat, if they remembered me at all.

Each time I returned to the two-story adobe, it seemed to have gone through a transformation from the way I remembered it as a child. When I was small, it looked like a castle, and the courtyard walls were the walls of a fort. Now, after my extended trip and short stay in a distant city, the house didn't appear so magnificent or forbidding as it once had. I walked through the back door near the kitchen and ran into a servant. I asked who was at home. She told me Dõna Inez was visiting her married daughter, Don Topo was away on business and the youngest daughter was attending a social event at the Monterey Mission.

I was surprised to find everyone gone. Although I had thought Lucinda had drained the last ounce of strength from me during the voyage, the fact that we were alone in the house suddenly caused new possibilities to arise in my mind. They arose in other places as well. I could still smell a faint trace of her perfume on my skin and her scent on my face. I bounded upstairs to see if she was in her old room. She wasn't there. I yelled for her, but she didn't answer.

Going back downstairs, I asked the servant woman where Lucinda was. Before I completed my question, she screwed up her face in distaste and nodded toward the stairway that led down to the root cellar.

Walking down the stairs, I heard Lucinda in hushed conversation with someone. Her voice sounded soothing. Hearing her caused the hair on the back of my neck to stand up, because I sensed there was something wrong. It was dark in the cellar. I could make out Lucinda sitting by the side of a cot. It looked like she was stroking someone's face, which didn't make sense. If a member of the household was ill they would be in a bedroom upstairs. Beneath my foot, the wooden stairs creaked loudly. Lucinda didn't look up. Taking the lantern, I walked over to the fire in the grate, took a piece of burning wood and lit the wick.

Bringing the lantern back into the room illuminated things in several ways. Lucinda was sitting on the edge of the bed with a wet cloth in her hand, gently cleaning the face of the outlaw, Tiburcio Vasquez.

"Charlie, I apologize for intruding," I heard him croak. "I had nowhere else to go."

"Charlie doesn't mind," Lucinda said.

"We should talk," I said, and walked back upstairs.

It was a good ten minutes before Lucinda climbed the stairs and sat down at the table. Her face was set with determination.

"What do you intend to do with him? I asked.

"Help him, like any Californio would help another."

"Are you crazy? From the look of him, he has escaped San Quentin.""

"Three days ago he left that horrible place. He has been telling me of the conditions at the prison. It is inhumane the way he was treated."

"Why did he come here?" I asked.

"No one but Lucinda has the heart to help me," Tiburcio said from the doorway.

He was dressed in rags, with rough shoes on his feet and his pants held up with twine. His face was shrunken, his hair was dirty and stringy but oddly enough his smile was still confident.

"If I can get a few meals and a little rest, I'll be on my way," Tiburcio said.

"By tomorrow morning?" I asked.

"Charlie, this is not the way we treat guests. Tiburcio will leave when he is ready and we will help him on his way."

"How does your father feel about harboring a fugitive? It is his house. I am sure he wants to stay on the right side of the authorities."

"My father isn't here and what I say is what we will do. I will not treat Tiburcio as anything less than a welcome guest."

Tiburcio studied Lucinda and then looked at me. He had no weapons on him that I could see. He must have realized he was in a tenuous position. A short stroll to the sheriff would result in half a dozen armed men coming to the house to provide him an escort back to prison.

"Charlie is right. I need to leave, as soon as possible. I can leave tonight, when it gets dark."

"How did you get here?" I asked, hoping he had a horse somewhere nearby, so I didn't have to provide him with one of Don Topo's.

"I walked, and let me tell you, Charlie, it is a long way from Yerba Buena to Monterey when you are on foot. Still, I made it. I am blessed, having friends like you and your wife."

I was about to tell him we weren't exactly friends when I looked at Lucinda and decided to keep quiet. I was dispatched to raid Don Topo's closet in search of some boots for our guest. Instead of refusing this missive out of hand, I decided to get out of the room for a minute and gather my thoughts.

When I came back with the boots, I heard a guitar playing. It was coming from the cellar. I wondered what Don Topo would do if he walked in now. I peeked through the door of the cellar. There was Lucinda, sitting on the edge of the bed staring at Vasquez like a moon-struck calf. Vasquez was leaning in the corner, the guitar laid across his knees. He had his head down and eyes closed as he strummed. Jealousy, anger and fear took turns running down my windpipe into the pit of my stomach. I walked as softly as I could out of the kitchen.

Passing the dining room, I saw Lucinda's youngest sister walking under the rose decked arbor that stood over the tiled path, leading to the front door. In case Pilar wasn't in on the conspiracy to hide Tiburcio from the law, I greeted her by name as loudly as possible without sounding deranged. I heard a slight scuffle, then the sound of the cellar door being shut and locked.

Pilar had outgrown some of her baby fat. According to Lucinda, she was the subject of many a young man's romantic ambition. As far as I knew, she was still demure and sweet. Pilar saw me standing by the table and gave a little squeak of surprise.

"Charlie, my missing brother-in-law. How was your trip to Oregon? Has my sister returned as well?"

"Your sister is, ah, checking for mail at the docks. Do you know where Don Topo is?" I asked.

"My father? I would imagine he is in San Francisco or perhaps Santa Barbara. Most certainly somewhere between the two. Are you back here to stay, or are you headed back to Oregon? I wish I could go to Oregon. Nobody ever takes me anyplace," she said with a pout.

Looking at her, I was struck with how different the two sisters were. I couldn't see the soft, feminine Pilar wielding a shotgun if someone threatened me. She probably wouldn't hide a fugitive in the root cellar either, though with an outlaw as charming as Vasquez, it would be hard to say.

Pilar walked up the stairs toward the bedroom. I moved as quietly as I could in the direction of the cellar door, and gave the secret knock Lucinda and her sisters used when we were children, playing. There was a scuffling sound, the click of the lock and the door opened. I went into the cellar down the stairs. I drew myself up in front of Tiburcio.

"I am going to get a horse from the stable and bring it into the courtyard. You can drape yourself over it and I'll put a tarp over you and lead you out of town."

"I already said that Tiburcio can stay as long as he wants," Lucinda said sternly. Exasperation crept into my voice.

"The servant-woman knows he is here. When she tells your sister, there will be two women with an exciting piece of gossip. How long before all the women in Monterey know where the famous Tiburcio Vasquez is hiding? The constable who was killed years ago has a wife and children who still live in town. His friends would like revenge. Your father isn't then only one at risk with Tiburcio at the house. Tiburcio has to go, and he has to go now. If he stays, Don Topo will be implicated. If he stays long enough, Matt Tarpi and the other vigilantes will come and hang him as sure as the darkness will arrive when the sun goes down."

Lucinda looked at Tiburcio. She gently turned him around and raised the shirt from his back. Ropes of abused flesh criss crossed his shoulders.

"If he is sent back to prison he will receive more of this," Lucinda said.

"If he stays here there is a good chance he will be hung by a rope rather than beaten with one. Is that what you want?" I said, staring Lucinda down. She dropped her gaze.

"Stay here with the door locked until you hear me knock again," I said.

Leaving the two soul mates alone I went up the stairs, out the door and over to the stable. I told the stable attendant I needed two horses for an errand on Don Topo's behalf. He stepped out of my way and I threw my saddle on a gray horse. I then put a pack saddle on the other horse, found a large white tarp and secured it to the pack saddle. In less than twenty minutes, I led the horses into the courtyard. It wasn't yet dark. In the shadows, without any of the courtyard lanterns being lit, it would be dark enough to keep prying eyes from seeing our ruse. Tiburcio was standing close to Lucinda under one of the Pepper trees that graced the courtyard.

I brought the grey horse and the bay pack horse into the garden, then helped Tiburcio drape himself over the pack saddle. He grunted when I pulled the tarp over his body and secured it around his legs and arms with leather straps. Lucinda's eyes brimmed with tears. As they slid down her cheeks, it felt like a knife sliding into my heart.

Climbing on my horse, I reached over and took the halter rope. Taking a turn around the saddle horn, I led the prostrated form of Tiburcio Vasquez from the courtyard onto Monterey's main street. I guided the horses slowly out of town without incident.

Once the street lights began to dim, I took a deep breath. My sigh of relief turned out to be premature.

"Hold fast," I heard a voice say, and four horsemen rode out from the shadows.

"Who are you?"

"Who is asking?" I replied.

I heard the distinctive sound of a revolver cocking in the quiet of the night.

"We will be the ones asking the questions here."

"It's Vasquez," another voice offered and a sinking feeling overcame me.

"Anybody know what Vasquez looks like?"

"He wears a black hat, and always rides a good looking grey horse just like this fella here."

The voice sounded familiar but I needed to get a closer look. The lights of the town were just far enough away that they didn't illuminate the horsemen.

'I am not armed," I said.

"Of course you aren't armed, Vasquez. You just escaped from the prison at San Quentin. Now, get off your horse."

I remembered the name that went with the voice.

"Is that you, Scotty? You know me from the store." I paused. I had bought dry goods at his family's store, many times. I was a year older than Scotty. I had been out of town for a while but I remembered the voice.

"Shut up, Vasquez. You can't charm yourself out of this."

If we rode back into town, the posse, or lawmen, or whatever this group consisted of, could see I wasn't Vasquez. However, it didn't seem in my best interests to lead a horse back into town with Tiburcio strapped across a pack saddle.

"My name is Charlie Horn. I imagine if the light was better you could see who I am."

One of the vigilante group struck a match and leaned close to my face.

"He's got a blonde mustache and green eyes. Vasquez has a black beard."

The group sat there, digesting this. The smell of whiskey floated through the chilly air. Chasing Vasquez must have required some alcohol to help stoke their courage.

"Where are you going?", one of the figures asked.

"Back to the Chualar Ranch where I work."

The horses stirred and milled around. Dust rose up off the road.

"You're Topo's son-in-law," someone said.

"Your wife was close to Vasquez if memory serves. Seems that boy of yours is awfully dark."

"I have to get back to the ranch before daylight. If you men don't have any more questions, I'll be on my way," I said, thinking that I would find a way to square the insult at a later time.

"What's on the pack horse?"

I paused at this. All one of the riders would have to do, is lean forward and flip up the tarp to see Tiburcio's boot or hands draped on either side of the horse.

"If someone has a badge I would like to see it. If I am dealing with a bunch of drunken townies, riding around in the dark after some rumors, then I need to get underway."

"You don't give the orders," a voice said.

"I am going to ride off now with my pack horse and venison. I have told you who I am and what I am doing. If you think it's worth the trouble to shoot me in the back then do it. If not, good evening to you."

Anger and resentment had replaced fear and surprise. I touched a spur to my horse and road slowly away amid grumblings and threats. Slowly, the distance grew until I could barely make out the murmurs behind me.

"That was magnificent. You told them to put up or shut up and they backed down. I couldn't have done it better myself," Tiburcio whispered from underneath the tarp.

"Be quiet," I hissed at him.

"You got their measure, Charlie. They aren't going to follow us now."

I reined my horse off the road and rode to a Cottonwood tree. I stepped off the horse and pulled the tarp off.

"You are giving me the saddle horse?" he asked.

"You will take the pack horse," I replied.

"My escape will be easier with a saddle."

The moon was full in the sky. The light played down onto the moss that hung from the graceful arching limbs of the oak trees. I breathed in the stillness of the night and tried to calm my nerves.

"With all respect, I must ask you to make use of your other acquaintances when you want to hide from the law. You are not being fair to Don Topo, or your son."

"Or to Lucinda?"

"I have no control over that. From what I hear, you have other bastard children. Try hiding with their mothers in the future."

"That is a serious thing for you to say. If you are that taken with Lucinda, why not kill me here, while you have the chance? I am not encouraging you to do so, I am just curious."

I mounted my horse and turned him to face the small, shrunken figure of Vasquez. He couldn't have been more than five foot eight and in his emaciated state he weighed no more than one hundred thirty pounds.

"Why not shoot you? All kinds of reasons. If your body was discovered, Lucinda would want to know if I was the one who killed you, and I am a bad liar. You gave me that rifle and kept your friends from killing me when I retrieved my mare. If it wasn't for Lucinda and the fact you are a stock thief we would be friends, because, like most people, I can't help but like you. I would just appreciate it if you hid from the authorities someplace else."

"I don't always have choice in where I take refuge. If possible, I will avoid the property of Don Topo."

Vasquez put his right arm over the back of the pack horse and pulled himself astride with a fluid motion. He reached down and fished the halter rope from where it hung.

"Thank you for the assistance you were able to afford me, Charlie. I can't help feeling that we will meet again. Till then, go with God."

With that, Tiburcio Vasquez, nudged the pack horse into the darkness.

Scent of Tears

# Chapter Nineteen

After sending Tiburcio on his way, I camped at the stable until I could catch a ship back to Oregon. Retrieving my horses, I went back to the cattle. Three months later, a letter arrived from Don Topo requesting that I come back to California. I hired two more hands, made sure the ranch was stocked with provisions and headed back.

I brought three horses with me when I came back from Oregon to the Monterey ranches of Don Topo. One of them was Luna and the other two were just horses. They were all gentle because they were wore out. After I reported to Don Topo I went to the Chualar Ranch.

At the Chualar Ranch the horses were older and worn out as well. There were five head of four-year-old geldings in the horse pasture that were not worn out but vigorous and wild. They were big, stout, fractious horses that Topo had bought from a ranch down south. They were also untouched by man except for when they had been roped, branded and castrated. After the horses had been choked down, they were not looking forward to anymore interaction with people.

It was my job to help put together a group of cattle to take back to Oregon. To do that, the vaquero crew were going to need fresh mounts. The five rank colts were the only candidates.

Being one of the younger vaqueros, it fell to me to get on the horses first. I wasn't looking forward to climbing on these eleven-hundred-pound wild animals but the other vaquero's were more crippled up and older than I was. I started with the rankest acting gelding who was a big, jug-headed palomino. The yellow horse had an elk neck and no slope to his shoulder which meant he would be very rough to ride. A branch was caught and hanging in his tail that no one had been brave enough to remove. Every time the branch hit his hocks, the horse jumped. Genero, who was on a large, gentle gelding, had him blindfolded and snubbed up to a stout saddle horse. I slipped up behind Genero and then over onto the back of the bronc. The horse froze and I sat there for a moment. I got ahold of the halter rein and nodded to Genero who pulled off the blindfold. Genero then led the yellow horse on a trip around the corral. To my surprise, the horse accepted me on his back and followed Genero as we went around the log enclosure. The pine logs were notched and cut so that the walls were seven feet tall.

After a few turns around the pen, I nodded. Genero unwrapped the halter rope from the bronc, handed me the rope and I was free of Genero's saddle horse. The pen was a high, semi-round corral we had built at the corner of the working pens. As I came by the corner, Lucinda suddenly stood up over the top of the corral with her parasol held high. At the sight of the parasol billowing over his head, the golden gelding came uncorked. With a grunt he swallowed his head and took a violent turn into the center of the pen where he made a serious effort to buck me off. He jumped so high it seemed I could see most of Monterey County in the distance.

It wasn't honorable behavior in that country to grip the saddle horn when a horse bucked. In fact, I had seen other riders hit a man for riding a bucking horse by holding on to the saddle horn. Though I wasn't in danger of being slapped about the head and ears with a rawhide quirt, I heard Lucinda yell at me to let go of the saddle horn and ride like a man.

The last time I had seen Lucinda was the evening I led Tiburcio Vasquez out of Monterey draped over the back of a pack saddle. Don Topo had sent me back up to the Oregon ranch the next day to tend the heifers. After watching Lucinda gaze longingly at Tiburcio while he played guitar for her, I had no desire to see her before I left. I was lucky enough to catch a ship back to Portland the following morning, so I didn't have to.

That summer, I received a letter from Topo telling me to ride back down to California to take another herd of heifers to Oregon. Tiburcio had been caught and sent back to San Quentin. No one had informed me how the romance between Tiburcio and Lucinda had progressed. I didn't think about them more than five or six times a day during the months I spent in Oregon. The unexpected sound of Lucinda's voice sweetly screaming at me to be a man and let go of the saddle horn caused such a surge of anger I felt my eyes bulge.

As the horse violently pitched across the pen, I took my hand from the saddle horn and threw it in the air above my right shoulder. The palomino bucked into the corner, jumped to his left and nearly unhorsed me before he jumped the other way and came back under me again. When the horse finally started to tire, I snatched my hat off my head with my free hand, fanned the horse, then spurred him twice for show and then let him quit bucking. The horse stood there heaving. Being careful not to get cow kicked, I slipped off the horse's back.

"When you get another one saddled let me know. In the meantime I will see what Don Topo's daughter wants," I said to Genero in a low tone.

Lucinda had walked over to stand underneath an Oak tree.

"What are you doing here?" I asked when I reached her. Lucinda had on a calico dress that was cinched tightly at the waist. It was a conservative dress, yet she managed to give it an air of carnality. Her eyes were bright and flashing, like always.

She twisted a strand of black hair in her fingers and teased me: "Why, my darling wife, you are looking as splendid as ever. What a delight it is to see you on this sunny morning."

"What are you doing here?" I repeated.

"I hear you are a killer of cattle thieves," she said.

"Where did you hear that?" I asked.

"Gotched-eyed Juan."

"He embellished."

"Juan hardly speaks at all, much less embellishes. He told my father when you got to Oregon, you killed three cattle thieves. That seems quite out of character for you, given you are so careful with yourself. If I hadn't been here to chastise you, you would have ridden the bucking horse while holding on to the horn and embarrassed yourself and everybody else."

"If you hadn't waved your umbrella over the horse's head there would have been no reason for him to buck."

"Same old Charlie."

"Same old Lucinda. It's my hope that someday your appearance won't put my life at risk."

"You'll always come out all right, Charlie. We both know that. Tell me about the cattle thieves you shot."

I gazed at her erect carriage and proud demeanor. I wondered what I had done in my life to deserve the misfortune and heartache she brought to me. Lucinda was the catalyst for my mood the day I shot the three men I had found driving off twenty of the Topo heifers. It was their bad luck that I was imagining her in the arms of Vasquez when I rode up on them. Lucinda continued to look at me with mild expectation. Was there any other woman in the Alto Sierra who would anticipate the recounting of a shooting with such enthusiasm?

"I was out one morning checking the cattle and I saw three men pushing your father's heifers up a canyon. I got a little ways ahead of them, climbed up the canyon and laid down behind a rock. When they got close to me, I shot all three of them. Then I loaded them back on their horses, took them to the trading post and left their horses tied to the hitching rail. I hadn't almost froze to death in the mountains or watched the Castro boy get his skull caved in so thieving vermin could drive off our cattle."

"Juan said you wrote a message and pinned it to the bodies identifying them as cattle thieves. It makes me proud that my efforts to teach you to read and write weren't wasted. Did you get in trouble for your brash behavior?"

"There isn't much in the way of law in that part of Oregon. I didn't tell anyone about it. If the men had relatives they didn't live close enough or feel angry enough to take it up with me."

"You always survive don't you, Charlie?"

"Does my surviving disappoint you? How is your friend, Tiburcio? I heard he is residing again at San Quentin Prison."

"Tiburcio is busy being himself. It's a consuming occupation. Was that why you left Monterey without saying goodbye? You didn't like him playing the guitar for me?"

"I can waste my time trying to explain myself to you or I can go back over to the corral and climb on those broncs. Why are you here? What do you want from me?"

"Maybe to say hello, my husband."

"If there is nothing else, I had better resume helping get the horses gentle. We have work to do and this ranch is about out of saddle horses."

Lucinda stood under the spreading oak looking at me. I felt like the palomino bronc, snubbed to the saddle horn. As long as her eyes were on me, I wasn't going anywhere and we both knew it.

"My father wants you to come back to Monterey. He has decided to send you to San Francisco to work as a cattle buyer at his slaughterhouse in Butchertown."

"What does that have to do with you? Besides, I don't want to be a cattle buyer if it means living in San Francisco. I am happiest in the foothills and your father knows that."

"You answer your own question, Charlie. Don Topo figures if I go with you to San Francisco then you will accede to his wishes. San Francisco should be more exciting than Monterey. There is a good Catholic school for my son, career advancement for you and entertainment for me."

"Helping you find entertainment doesn't sound safe. You go live in San Francisco if you want."

"I am asking you for something and you are going to say no?"

"I will talk to your father. Let me tell the men where I am going. Then I'll saddle Luna and we will leave," I replied.

My stoic resolve to ignore Lucinda lasted until we came to a mesa three ridges away from the vaquero headquarters. When the wagon reached the flat, I no longer had to fight the brake to keep the wagon from running into the breeching on the team. Lucinda leaned slightly closer to me and said in a low voice, she was proud of the way I rode the palomino gelding. I made no reply. She moved a fraction of an inch closer and said she didn't know I could ride a bucking horse as explosive as that hammer-headed outlaw. The comment was followed by her resting her long, elegant fingers on my inner thigh.

Five minutes later Lucinda was holding her calico dress up with one hand and hanging on to an Oak branch with the other. The buggy horse was loosely tied to a fallen tree trunk. The horse could have easily side-stepped the log and run away with the wagon in tow but neither that nor the prospect of having to walk back to Monterey didn't matter to me. Lucinda was trying to stay upright while holding on to my shoulders. If anyone had ridden over the crest of the hill we would have been in plain sight. That didn't seem to matter either. Lucinda contorted like an animal caught in a trap, crying and moaning and then in the midst of her contortions stopping to look into my eyes, smiling. My face was dripping with sweat and my breath came in rasps. I held her gaze for a moment and again wondered what I had done to deserve her.

After we had finished, I sat down and leaned against the big trunk of the tree. My legs were shaking and I was drenched with sweat.

"I am not doing this again," I said.

"Charlie."

"Don't talk. You can't just rub your hand on my leg and we go right back to where we were before I left San Francisco. I don't like walking around, being in the clouds, only to watch another man catch your eye."

"Charlie," she said.

"Leave me alone."

"Charlie."

"What?"

"The tree you are leaning against is covered with fire ants."

I jumped up off the ground, cursing and knocking at the stinging ants on my back and legs. Lucinda laughed until she finally had to lean against the wagon for support. After she caught her breath and wiped the tears from her eyes, she regarded me.

"Charlie, why make it complicated? You are a man and I am a beautiful woman. I will always have an advantage. That is a natural law. I have blessed you with my affections and you want to dissect it like a child with a puzzle. Trust me, the puzzle is too much for you to grasp. Be happy and thankful."

"How do I compare with Tiburcio?" I asked, thinking of our interlude under the tree minutes before.

"You don't. You have no poetry in your soul. You can't play the guitar and you can't dance."

The air left my lungs.

"Is there nothing you like about me? I am always ready to do your bidding. Doesn't that count or would you rather I was locked up in prison?" I asked, feeling dangerously close to violence.

Lucinda looked at me like she was explaining something to a child who wasn't quite right in the head. "Tiburcio isn't available. It's part of his appeal," she said as she pinned her hair back up. "Why are you looking at me like that? You will never understand me. If you try, it will just make you tired."

I looked off into the sky. The pain on my face must have been obvious.

"I'm fond of you, Charlie. You think I would do this if I didn't like you?

The stink of your body doesn't make me gag. I respond to your touch. Those things I have no control over, yet they are favorable."

My mouth was dry.

"Do you think I would consider having you as my husband if I didn't have some feeling for you?"

"I didn't know you wanted me as your husband. If you do, it is news to me," I said.

"All right, Charlie. Here is the good thing I see when I look at you. You are going to make it across the swollen river, you are going to find your way out of the burning building, you are going to survive the snowstorm. You have that aura, that smell of someone who will endure. That sense of invincibility would be attractive to any woman."

"And when we make love?"

"I can't tell you about that. If I tell you it's nothing special you will sulk and perhaps cry. If I tell you how wonderful you feel inside me, you will think you can control what I do. If you start wondering about how exciting I find you and how you compare to other men, you will lose your wits. Better not to think about it."

We reassembled our wardrobe and continued on our trip. Three miles down the grade, the road crossed a running creek. Lucinda got off the wagon and, pulling up her skirt, washed herself in the water. The sight of that proved too much for me and I came off the wagon, not even bothering to set the brake. We started making love standing in the creek then moved to the wagon and finally ended up on a blanket spread over a little stand of grass.

"Would you have come back from Oregon if I had gotten pregnant on our ocean voyage or would you have stayed to take care of your precious cattle?"

"I'm here," I replied.

"You are here because my father sent for you. Would you have come back for me?"

"What do you think?"

"I think you will do whatever makes me happy, Charlie. The problem is, no one, including me, knows what that is," she said and kissed the corner of my mouth.

The sun was starting to cast long shadows.

"We better get on the road back to Monterey. I would hate to get robbed in the dark," I said

In a rare display of non-sexual affection, Lucinda leaned into me and put her arms around my shoulders.

"Anyone who wants to rob us would be in for the surprise of a lifetime," she said and pulled herself over until she was snuggled next to me. I had seen another short barreled shotgun nestled under the seat of the wagon.

"Why do you always seek out danger?" I asked.

"There are always storms building in the future. I would rather meet them head on," she said and lay back seemingly unconscious of her full nudity.

"Let's sit by the creek and listen to the wind as it passes through the willows," she said.

She stood and walked to the creek bank and settled down holding her hand up, not looking at me. I took her hand.

"You are unlike anyone I will ever meet," I said with a sigh.

"We finally agree on something, Charlie," she said and scratched the inside of her thigh with her fingernails.

She looked at me for a moment and then lightly punched me in the arm.

"Why do you look so sad? It is beautiful here. The sunset is shining through the trees and the running water sounds like music. "

"I am sad because I know I will always want things to be as they are now."

"Let go of the saddle horn. You can't enjoy the full experience of what is happening now if you are worried about tomorrow," Lucinda said as she took me in her hand and rolled onto her back.

For a good long time she was right. There was nothing but the moment, and I was in it.

"Are you good for anything else besides this?" I asked her later, after I caught my breath.

"Only an idiot like you would ask a woman that question. Yes, Charlie. I am good for other things. If I had money or food and you had none I would share with you. If someone tried to harm you I would stop them if I could. I don't disrespect you by lying. I don't pretend to be something I'm not. Few women can say that."

"You don't lie to me because I am not important to you."

"In the beginning, perhaps. Once I got into the habit of telling you the truth it became a point of pride. We have been through too much for me to be indifferent to you. I don't lie to you now, simply because I never have and don't want to start. Being honest has its advantages. I would not be this free with my body if I were worried about what you thought of me. My sisters must be actresses about who they are or they will shock and disgust their husbands. At least that is what they tell me."

She looked at me and smiled. Anguish was painted on my face.

"Poor Charlie. Once your excitement fades your insecurities dominate you."

Her comment fully deflated me. It was dark before I could bring myself to rise up and continue the trip to Monterey.

Scent of Tears

# Chapter Twenty

Again, we were sitting at the Mahogany table in the kitchen of Topo's house. A fire burned in the hearth and the fragrant aroma of pine filled the kitchen along with the pleasant smell of coffee.

"What do you expect from me in San Francisco?" I asked Don Topo.

"Juan told me you killed some cattle thieves in Oregon."

"It took a great deal of work to get those heifers to Oregon. A life was lost. I wasn't going to tolerate someone stealing them."

"I would expect no less determination from you, Charlie, however, you must not develop a reputation for violence. You need a to be known as a resourceful and honest businessman, not a killer."

"You chastise me for protecting your property? I couldn't let that poor Castro boy get clubbed to death by savages for no reason."

Topo sounded tired. "They say you also killed one of your own vaqueros."

"That was an accident. This Indian helping us gather some cattle got a bottle of whiskey and when it came time to go to work, he was drunk. He rode up to me at the corrals and said he wasn't going to take orders from a pup. Then he pulled a knife. I cracked him over the head with a pistol barrel and when I did, it spooked his horse. He fell off and his foot got hung in the stirrup. We tried to get the horse stopped but he ended up being dragged to death in the rocks. I felt bad about it," I said.

"You may have had your reasons, but I need you to be civilized in your dealings . I don't really need another violent, illiterate vaquero or pistolero. Life has become complicated in California and it is getting worse," Topo replied. He sighed and shifted in his chair.

"There is the idyllic life on the rancho and then there is real life. Real life is political power and the influence you gain through money and favors. Whether that is right or not, whether you believe it or not, it is true. Accumulate enough money, you can own a rancho as an amusement. The easy life where they held week long fiestas is over. The Spanish horsemen no longer shoe their horses with silver."

"I don't wish to amuse myself with a ranch. I want to manage a ranch. I like horses and cattle and life away from people."

Topo had aged. His particular form of aging was to put on weight. If he were two inches shorter, he would become a circle. He ran his stubby fingers through his curly silver hair and then rubbed his sagging jowls.

"All you get from working with cattle is old before your time. Stay at it long enough and you will end up crippled and poverty stricken. It's a young man's game and you won't be young forever," he replied.

"You have made money with cattle in the past."

"There are too many variables with livestock, Charlie. The rain comes, the grass grows and the cattle become fat. Gold is discovered and miners come and cattle are worth eight times what they were the previous year. We are rich for a time. Then the rains fail to come, the cattle don't gain, the miners leave for a new strike and we are poor."

"How can I buy cattle and not be in the cattle business?" I asked.

Don Topo took a sip of his coffee and shook his head and smiled a weak smile.

"No, Charlie. As a cattle buyer you are in the commodity business, not raising livestock. You provide a service. The cattle market is bad, you get a commission. The cattle market is good, you get a commission. The main thing is, by living in San Francisco, you are able to make deals. A good lease comes up, you can do someone a favor. A rancho must be sold because of taxes, you find a buyer for it or buy it for us. Then others will owe you. A middleman makes money whether it rains or it doesn't, whether the cattle prices are up or down."

"I am not sure I understand you."

"Charlie, if you buy cloth for one dollar a yard and sell it for two dollars a yard, you make money. If you till the land, plant and harvest the cotton, then take it to market, who knows if you will make money. You need to concern yourself with profit, not lifestyle," he said.

"You have too much faith in me, Don Topo."

"Who else can I have faith in? I have two sons-in-law. One likes to gamble. The other likes to drink. They do not favor hard work nor do they have my trust. I have tried to build something for my family but the fruits of my efforts can disappear very quickly. You need to help me preserve what we have built."

"Anyone would tell you I am not a deal maker. I don't like the city. I don't even play cards or drink whiskey. I have never listened to a politician I would lower myself to talk to. I want to help you, but I am not the man for the job," I said. It was the first time I could remember telling Topo no.

"Your desire to stay in the brush with the vaqueros is childlike, Charlie. You can no longer afford to be a child. You have to find out how the world works. Give me a year in Yerba Buena working as a cattle buyer for our slaughterhouse. If you can't abide living in the city after a year, you can go back to Oregon and follow the vaquero trade. Just give me a year of your time."

I crossed my arms and leaned back in my chair. Don Topo went on in his most reasonable and persuasive tone.

"If you travel buying beef for the slaughterhouse, you will form friendships. From those associations you will learn more about cattle and horses than you ever would living in a shack on a desolate ranch. After a year in San Francisco, you will own better horses, be able to afford better saddles and know where to buy better cows than you will camped in the wilderness of Oregon."

I smiled because Don Topo knew what lever to use to sway me. Arguing that I could barely read didn't sway him. Topo told me I could count cattle and read men. That was all he needed from me. In the end, I couldn't stand against Topo's wishes. I agreed to spend a year buying cattle for Don Topo's slaughterhouse.

"If it makes you feel better, Charlie, your father and I were partners on a load of hides many years ago. The hides went to China and there were problems with payment. After all these years, I finally got a bank draft covering the profit on the transaction. To settle your father's estate, I am giving you one hundred of the heifers in Oregon. You no longer work for me. We are now partners. However, I still need you to buy cattle for the slaughterhouse and try to be a husband to Lucinda."

"Buying cattle will be easier than being married to Lucinda," I said and immediately wished I hadn't. The old man's face fell. He loved his daughter and there was no getting away from that.

Topo looked like he might get mad, then he took a breath and eased deeper into his chair.

"No man has an easy road when it comes to women. Do the best you can and you will have my blessing," he said, and sighed.

Thus, I went to live and work in San Francisco.

Sandy Ellis was Topo's partner in the slaughterhouse. It was going to be my job to travel the countryside and buy cattle. As such, I would be absent a great deal of the time. The prospect of my being gone didn't seem to upset Lucinda or distract her from searching for a house. Somehow, she had extracted a promise from Topo to pay for a home near Butchertown.

Lucinda found a pleasant looking, newly constructed two-story wooden house on a big enough lot for a rose garden. The house was situated on Kentucky Street, several miles from the offices of the Ellis Livestock Company. I would have liked something closer to my work but when the breeze was just right, the stench of the offal from the slaughterhouses would drift through the air. If you lived within a half mile of the conglomeration of tanneries and slaughterhouses, the smell would make you heave lunch. The fact that I had a long way to hike to get to work didn't seem to bother Lucinda. She was unfazed that, due to it's proximity to the center of the city, the house was much more expensive than what her father had intended to pay.

It was estimated that a population of over three-thousand workers were employed in Butchertown, which was comprised largely of tanneries, slaughterhouses and fertilizer manufacturers. A contingent of vaqueros and cowboys worked unloading the cattle from ships and driving them to the slaughterhouses.

Topo had been right about all the latest saddles, innovations and craftsmanship of the silver inlaid bits making their way to Butchertown. If it was made of silver, iron or leather, one of the cattle buyers or ranchers would own it. New and improved bit designs, spurs and saddles were always a topic of conversation.

Sandy Ellis, Don Topo's partner in the slaughterhouse, was a cherubic little man who must have owned two dozen shirts. I never saw him dressed in anything but a freshly pressed shirt. Amazingly enough, he put his laundry on a ship to Hawaii to have them washed and starched. There were more established and better laundries in Hawaii than in San Francisco, though the turnaround time was a bit longer.

Sandy always had a recent haircut and fresh shave. The first thing he did when I showed up was to frown in my direction, then take me to his barber. While I was getting my hair trimmed, Sandy lost no time is schooling me on buying cattle. He was a sharp trader with sunny outlook and a smile always in place.

Over whiskey, he rattled on. "You can get hurt in a cattle deal in many different ways, Charlie. You can be a week's ride out in the country and the price of live cattle will drop. You don't hear about it until you get back to San Francisco with the cattle you paid too much for. There won't be a scale so you have to argue with the rancher about what his steers weigh. Some of the cowmen want gold, rather than a bank note, which presents a problem because if you are carrying gold instead of a check you can be robbed. Most cowmen will make the cattle thirsty with salt the cattle so they will look fatter than they are, and will weigh more when they are run across a scale. People will try to sell you cattle with an altered brand. Accidentally buying stolen cattle can complicate things in a hurry. Misunderstandings abound and no matter how honest you are, someone will always label you a skunk. You just have to accept that."

He looked at me, his eyes twinkling.

"Those challenges are just the tip of the iceberg in this business. No wonder I drink."

Lucinda and I saw a little bit of the city while I was helping her set up house. She arranged to have Patricio stay most of the time with his aunt. With her son taken care of, Lucinda availed herself of all the furniture shops, linen shops and carpet stores in the city. She would be out shopping at nine in the morning and stay at it till sundown. There were popular concerts and plays that she insisted I accompany her to. However, within a week of our arrival, I was headed out into the countryside to locate cattle. I can't say I minded because after a full day of hauling home furniture followed by a late night of entertainment in the theatre; I was worn out.

My job involved many hours on a horse. Sometimes I would buy the cattle and arrange for my vaqueros to drive them. Sometimes I would buy them with the understanding that they would be paid for when they reached San Francisco. Sometimes the ranch owners would bring the cattle and sell them to the highest bidder at Butchertown. Most of the time all parties involved preferred that the details of the transactions, how much they were going to get and how their cattle graded, be hashed out ahead of time. Once I was dispatched to the northern counties to buy cattle for the slaughterhouse, I didn't see Lucinda much. I was constantly traveling. Making long horseback rides followed by a day or so visit with the stock producers to look at the cattle and try to strike a bargain. I might be back in San Francisco for forty-eight hours, most of it spent sleeping, recording accounts and taking care of personal details. Then it was back out to locate more cattle to buy.

When I was out of town, Lucinda struck out on her own. Without asking me my opinion, much less my permission, Lucinda finagled a down payment on a coffee shop and restaurant located by the wharf. I assumed the money came from her father, but I never inquired. As I came to find out, her dabbling in the coffee business wasn't quite as benign as it seemed.

Scent of Tears

# Chapter Twenty-one

The first inclination I had that there was trouble, came one evening at the slaughterhouse offices. I was sitting at my desk filling out invoices after returning from a long trip buying beef. Lucinda slipped through the door into the small room like a fugitive.

"Are there any Chinese people working here at the slaughterhouse?" Lucinda asked, with panic in her voice. I was used to her abrupt manner but for the first time in our long association she seemed frightened.

"Hello, my dear," I replied. "What the hell brings you to Butchertown?"

This was her second visit to my place of business in the time we lived in San Francisco. Seeing her here, visibly upset, set me back.

"Answer the question, Charlie. Do any Chinamen work here? I have to know if the Chinese know we are married."

"We spend so little time together that I would be surprised if anyone knows we are married. To answer your question, there are Russians, Irish, Serbian, Portuguese and Germans but I don't remember seeing any Chinese."

"There has been a misunderstanding with one of the Tongs. Do you know what a Tong is?"

"I read the paper when I get a chance. It's a Chinese social organization."

"They are violent Chinese gangs who have much influence. They also employ assassins," she said.

Something had gotten Lucinda's full attention. She took a look through the window of the office, then walked over and blew out the lamp, so that we were sitting in the dying light of sunset.

"They are trying to kill me."

"There are a lot of Chinese in San Francisco, but I can't imagine there are any that are out to kill you."

As I said that, she unwound a red silk scarf she was wearing around her neck. Turning her body toward me, she lifted up her chin. A slash mark, two inches long, crossed her neck. It was enough of a cut that I could see it in the fading light.

"They tried to cut my throat, Charlie. One of them grabbed my hair and pulled my head back and sliced at my jugular. I am still bleeding. This cut isn't imaginary."

I peered closer at the wound. A tiny amount of blood leaked onto the collar of her expensive dress. A little deeper and the cut would have opened a vein.

"Who is trying to kill you? What did you do?" I said, alarmed at the sight of her blood.

"I can assure you, this is not my fault. You know I have been running my stallion at the race track south of the city." Lucinda owned a fine thoroughbred stallion, a gift from her father. The horse had won so many races in Monterey, no one would bet against him there, so Lucinda brought him north.

"I knew you had brought your horse up here from Monterey, but I didn't know you were riding him in races."

"I am not riding him. I hired an Indian boy for that. I have been entering the stallion in match races and I have won quite a bit of money. Now, there is a problem."

She had backed all the way into the corner of the room and was talking to me in a whisper. Her behavior unnerved me enough that I opened my desk drawer, took out a small thirty-two caliber revolver and slipped it into my pocket.

Lucinda looked around the office. She walked to the window, looked out, and then backed into the corner again. She was talking in such a low whisper, I had to stand almost on top of her to hear what she was saying.

"I met an officer from one of the China bound clipper ships. He came into the coffee shop and we became friendly. He asked if I knew of anyone who was interested in buying a packet of opium. A saloon owner mentioned to me that he knew men who were interested in the trade. I struck a bargain with the sailor. I was to receive a bundle every time the ship came back from the Orient. I would pay one hundred-fifty dollars for the bundle, and sell it for three hundred dollars."

"You what?" I asked, my voice rising. I wanted to ask just what her relationship was with the ship's officer and what friendly meant, exactly. However, with blood dripping down Lucinda's neck, there were more important issues.

"Keep your voice down," she said in a hiss.

"Did I understand you correctly? You are in the opium trade?"

"I was only the middle man, so to speak. It was no different from what you do, buying and selling cattle. Opium is not illegal, at least not for the Chinese."

"Why would you do that? The people in that business can be dangerous."

Lucinda sounded exasperated.

"The cattle business is dangerous. You are always saying you fear you will be killed for the gold you carry."

Lucinda squared up and faced me, raising her nose. Some of the fire seemed to reenter her body.

"I thought you owned a coffee shop?" I asked.

"The coffee shop doesn't make any real money. If I want to keep my horse stabled at the race track, I have to ask you or my father for money. If I want to own a carriage and a matched team to pull it, I have to ask you or my father for money. If I see a new couch or a beautiful pearl necklace I have to beg somebody to buy it for me. I would rather take a chance, and have my own money, than go on bended knee to get what I want."

"On bended knee?" I snorted. "You have never so much as bowed your head in the rain, much less bent your knee to anyone. Besides, I have never told you no in my life."

"When my father doesn't want to let me have what I need, he tells me that I am married and I must ask permission from my husband. I don't ask you because I know that you don't have any money, except the wages my father pays you. Most of that goes toward fancy engraved silver conchos for the bridles and saddles you love so much," she said and took another quick peek out the window. "I don't have to justify what I do to you, Charlie Horn. Do you want to hear why I am in danger or not?"

I looked at her dark hair and pale skin in the shadows of the office and wondered why my breath always stopped the moment I saw her. I held my palms up and cocked my head. I had never told her about the hundred head of cattle I owned in Oregon or the large collection of mares I owned who raised colts I sold every year. There were advantages to Lucinda thinking I was broke.

She went on, speaking rapidly, "I came to know some Chinamen from the racetrack and the opium business. One in particular, a man by the name of Ah Lee. Ah Lee is the head of one of the Tongs. Like all Chinamen, he loves to gamble and specifically, loves to gamble on horse races. He has contacts with the clipper ships and brings in prostitutes, immigrants and opium from China. He has many Chinese working for him. He came by the coffee shop and asked to speak to me, so I went back in the alley and met with him. He said, in this truly horrible attempt at Spanish, that he liked my horse and had won money betting on him. He had a deal for me. He knew I was trading opium and he promised to buy all that I could deliver at twice the price I was getting now."

"What did he want in return?"

"For my horse to lose a match race. That is something I would never allow."

"Did you agree to have Ah Lee buy your opium?"

"Yes, of course. That was just good business."

"Go on with your story," I said, dizzy at her rationalization of the duplicity.

"We had a big race scheduled. I became afraid Ah Lee would do something to my horse, so I went down to the barn before the race."

"What was he going to do to the horse?" I asked.

"What Ah Lee did was have a sharp stone glued in the foot of my stallion. If the stone is stuck in the horse's frog at the right place, the horse will start to falter at the end of the race. I found the stone and took it out. Then I found out Ah Lee tried to get my jockey to throw the race. The boy only speaks his native tongue and a little bit of Spanish, so that didn't work."

"Did you bet on your horse?"

"I always bet on my horse. Ah Lee bet so much on the other horse, I got tremendous odds. It would have been plain ignorance not to bet my stallion. He always wins."

"Does this Chinaman know how much money you made by playing him for a fool?"

"No. I didn't play him for a fool. He came to me with his proposal."

"How much did Ah Lee lose?"

"I don't know the exact amount. Whatever it was, it certainly made him mad. He tried to poison my stallion. Then two of his men tried to cut my throat when I was opening the coffee shop this morning. If I wasn't as quick as I am, and if Gotch-Eyed Juan hadn't been there to scare them off, they would have succeeded."

"So, Ah Lee thought you had agreed to throw the race in return for upping your profit on the opium packet?"

"It was a misunderstanding," she replied.

I snorted and received a glare.

"Where is your racehorse now?"

"I can't believe you, Charlie. You are more concerned with the horse than me?"

"The horse, much like myself, is an innocent bystander."

"I sent the Indian boy and the horse back to Monterey."

"So, how may I put my life and general health at risk to help you avoid the consequences of your actions?"

Lucinda glared at me, then walked to the window. She looked out into the foggy night, searching for whoever was after her. Her trepidation overcame her resentment of my tone.

"I think it's best that I go to Hawaii for a spell. They tell me it is a paradise. The clipper ships take two weeks to get there. If I spend a week in the islands, and spend another two weeks in transit back, perhaps you and Juan will have straightened this out."

"Straightened this out? You gave this warlord the idea he had a sure bet on a horse race. Now that he lost his money, Juan and I are expected to kill him or buy him off? That is beyond the pale, even for you."

She moved into my arms. To my surprise I felt her tremble for a second. She slipped her hands around my waist. When I came back from a trip, it would usually take less than three minutes for our clothes to fall off the moment we were alone. Like a plow horse accustomed to getting his grain at daybreak, I started to feel an overwhelming anticipation. For a moment, Lucinda didn't notice.

"It sounds so ugly when you say it that way, Charlie. These animals that work for Ah Lee will murder me first and ask questions later. If you can't help Juan resolve this matter, get Sandy Ellis to sit down with Ah Lee and explain why it's smarter to let this go. That isn't so much to ask, is it?"

I felt the excitement continue to build in me. Lucinda suddenly felt me harden and looked up.

"I would love to lie back on your desk and be with you, Charlie. It would help settle my nerves, but Juan is in the carriage waiting for us. I have secured passage on a ship. The ship leaves in two hours. Contain yourself for now and go with me to the docks. You can make sure my throat doesn't get cut before my ship sails."

The realization that I would not see Lucinda for several months caused me a moment of panic which dissolved into disgust at my weakness.

"Why do I end up hating myself every time you show up?"

"It's your misfortune to love me, Charlie."

"At least we agree on something," I said. I reached for my coat and hat.

Gotch-Eyed Juan waited patiently in the driver's seat of the carriage. Lucinda climbed up into the passenger seat and waited while I struggled in. Then she scooted over next to me. It was a pleasant show of affection. Then it dawned on me that she was crouching low in the seat to avoid the poisoned dart or triad hatchet, should one fly out of the darkness.

"What are you grinning at?" Lucinda hissed.

"I apologize, but I've never seen you afraid of anything," I replied.

"I'm not afraid," she announced firmly, however, she kept her head down and remained pressed up against me.

"I have obviously misunderstood why you are hiding under my arm."

Lucinda huffed and sat up a little straighter. The glow came back into her eyes as her pride forced her upright.

"It is the knowledge that if one of these triad assassins kills me there will be no repercussions," she said, with considerable anger.

"How is that?"

"The American law holds no sway over the triads. The Chinese won't help the police or give them information. The killers would go back to China. No one will ever find out who killed me and so, there will be no punishment. Someone could end my life and get away with it. That is unfair."

"How much money did this Ah Lee lose?"

She squirmed in the seat.

"Look at the moon, Charlie. There is a ring around it. Did you know that means it is going to rain?"

"How much, Lucinda?"

"I think Ah Lee said over fifteen thousand dollars, but he was so mad when he confronted me I couldn't really understand him," she said. I looked at her in surprise, then crouched down lower in the seat myself as we made our way to the waterfront.

Finally, we arrived at the pier where Lucinda's Hawaii bound clipper sat. There may be a more spooky place than a San Francisco wharf in the early morning hours but I've never seen it.

"Everything will be fine once you get me on the ship," she said, staying snuggled against my arm.

"How do the boats keep from running into each other? This fog is like a solid curtain," I asked.

"The men who operate the smaller fishing boats sing opera. It helps them avoid collisions. It's quite lovely to listen to," she replied.

Juan pulled the team to a stop in front of the pier. Lucinda stepped out and motioned for me to join her.

Shadows of the huge warehouses darkened an already black night. A cacophony of sounds came from creaking timbers, the washing of the sea against the pilings and rats scurrying in the blackness. Sitting in the carriage, I could smell the tar on the ships and the saltwater flats. The fog was so thick, it masked the night, making everything close and intimate. I wished Lucinda wasn't fleeing from some horrible danger she had created and we could take advantage of the moment.

"How did you arrange passage on such short notice?" I asked.

"I have friends," she said.

"I bet you do," I said, my jealousy replacing my desire.

"Is this really the time for your mistrust to assert itself?"

"Divorce isn't as hard to achieve as it once was," I replied.

"My father would never hear of such a thing or one of us would have done it already."

A seal grunted abruptly, which caused me to turn my head. I caught the faintest movement out of the corner of my eye. Turning toward where a dray wagon was parked, I thought I saw a figure in the blackness. As I stared, the figure became a small man whose head suddenly rolled off his shoulders and moved diagonally from where we were standing. It took a shocked second to figure out I had seen a white cat jump off the short post he was sitting on and scurry up the road. Lucinda slipped behind me and pulled the small revolver from my pocket. I heard two clicks as she thumbed the hammer back.

"Un-cock the revolver before you shoot me in the butt," I said as I felt the barrel against my backside.

"Why do you want to be difficult now? This is not the time to talk about divorce nor is it the time to talk about marksmanship."

I sighed in resignation at the impossibility of the woman.

"I have known you my whole life and yet I continue to have more questions than answers," I whispered to her, moving her arm so she was pointing the cocked weapon away from me.

"If you remain unsure of me then you will never get bored. Count your blessings," she replied in a whisper.

"Bored isn't a word that comes to mind when I think of you," I said as I sensed more movement in the shadows. I could just see an indistinct image move again in the darkness. Suddenly, the image became clearer and I saw an arm raise and come forward. Lucinda had my pistol, which left me with a hat to defend myself. I pulled it off my head and thrust it out to meet the throwing knife hurled at us. The knife pierced the hat and fell to the ground. Two dark figures slid out of the shadows, one holding a hatchet.

As I dropped down to retrieve the knife, Lucinda stepped in front of me and began rapidly pulling the trigger of the small handgun. There were five quick, muffled pops and then the weapon was empty. I couldn't tell if she hit anyone or not. The two men turned back into the mist and were gone. My ears were ringing and the smell of gunpowder filled the air.

I looked over at Gotch-Eyed Juan. He was sitting in the driver's seat of the carriage and seemed to be having trouble getting the big Colt Dragoon pistol out from where it was stuffed in his belt. Lucinda had stepped aside and was walking toward the shadows the two men had disappeared into. She stopped short of entering the fog bank. I could hear the hammer of the pistol fall on empty chambers.

I went to her and took her arm in my left hand and removed the revolver from her grasp. Her hand was shaking. I pulled her close.

"It's not so funny now, is it?" she said in a little girl voice, and leaned against me.

"Maybe Triads aren't the simple Chinese social clubs I thought they were. Let's get you to the ship," I said.

"Oh, Charlie, look at your hand," she said. Her sleeve was soaked with blood where I had gripped it.

I looked down and saw blood freely running down my hand, dripping off my fingers onto the wet planks of the wharf. The throwing knife had gone through my hat and pierced my hand. It was hard to see how much damage had been done in the poor light.

Lucinda reached down and pulled her dress up and grasped her petticoat. Ripping a strip of cloth loose, she lifted my arm so she could wrap the wound with the cloth.

"Can you move your fingers? You need to wash your hand off so the wound doesn't become septic."

"I'll do that later. Let's get you off the dock and into the ship before more of these weasels show up."

Juan started to climb down from the wagon.

"Stay where you are, Juan. Charlie will be back in a minute," she said and started off down the wharf toward the ship.

"Did you see, Juan? The poor man couldn't get his pistol free of his pants," she said in a breathy whisper.

"He's getting old and those Indians we ran into on the way to Oregon carved him up like a Christmas turkey. I'm surprised he can pull his pants on, let alone be effective in a gunfight. I'll take this problem you have got yourself into up with Sandy Ellis. Where did you put your winnings from the horse race?"

Lucinda's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"Why? So you can come back to California without being murdered. Sandy will be able to do a better job negotiating for your life if he has some money to give back," I replied.

She stood in silence, facing the ship's gang plank.

"Is the money worth more than your life?"

"There is four thousand dollars inside a small sack of coffee beans in the pantry at the house. There is another thirty-five hundred, I am taking with me to Hawaii in case I find property to buy. I'm starting to think land is safer to invest money in rather than opium. Another thing, my father must not find out about this."

"Your father will find out about this. Sandy is his business partner and he will tell him and if he doesn't, I will. I don't keep secrets from your father," I said.

"Do you enjoy being sanctimonious?" she asked.

"My hand is starting to throb. It occurs to me that if anymore Chinese assassins show up, we are out of bullets for the little revolver. I won't be much good in a fight if I'm bleeding to death. Get on the boat. Buy some property. Perhaps you won't need to come back."

"You don't really mean that, Charlie," she said with an infuriating confidence that made me shake my head.

"No but I wish I did," I said, and held up my bleeding hand to point at the ship.

Lucinda wrapped her arm around my neck and her mouth found mine. She kissed me fiercely for a second as she pressed herself hard against me.

"Did you ever notice we are at our best when the blood is flowing?"

"Lord save us," I replied.

Lucinda kissed me again and walked down the gang plank. As I watched her go, I felt like something was squeezing the breath out of my lungs. She stopped and looked back.

"Stay out of the cat houses, Charlie. Take care of my Patricio. I will be back soon as you clear this up with Ah Lee," she said and turned away.

"Keep in mind, most sailors, even the good looking ones, have the clap," I said in loving reply. If she heard me she never looked back.

Scent of Tears

# Chapter Twenty-two

I took the gambling controversy to my boss at the slaughterhouse. Half way into the story, he put up his hand to stop me and said we needed to continue this at a bar. Sandy had several favorite bars. The closest one was called the Terminal Saloon. We took a back table and Sandy ordered a scotch. I settled for some coffee.

"Let me understand. Topo's daughter gave Al Lee the impression she was going to help him fix a horserace. Al Lee bets a ton of money, loses it all and blames the girl."

"His name is Ah Lee," I said.

"I know his name. Your father-in-law and I have done business with him before. There are a ton of Ah Lees in Chinatown. To keep the name straight, we call him Al Lee. You are saying that he blames your wife for losing money on a horse race?"

"Blames her enough to try and have her killed," I said. "Why would he try to assassinate her if he knows her father?"

"She goes by your last name. Western names probably confuse the celestials as badly as Chinese names confuse us. I can't believe he would be stupid enough to murder her over money," Sandy said and took a slice of bread from the basket the waiter had left for us.

I held up my bandaged hand and nodded toward the wound.

"How did you end up married to her anyway?", he asked.

"I haven't always had luck on my side."

"I wouldn't call it bad luck. She's about the most beautiful woman I ever saw. It's just that the relationship between the two of you doesn't seem very traditional."

"Even so, do you think you can contain this problem with Ah Lee?"

Sandy took a long pull on his very expensive scotch. He could drink all morning and afternoon without showing the effects of alcohol. That was good, because I had never seen him go long without a drink.

"I can deal with Al Lee. I'll go see him when I leave here."

"You know him that well?"

"Sure, I know him that well. He runs one of the Triads and most of Chinatown. Topo and I sold him some city lots not far from here. Everybody who has a power base knows everybody else in this hamlet."

The next morning, Sandy met me at the office at daylight. He was bright eyed and sharply dressed as always. He handed me a cup of coffee and gave me his best smile.

"You talk to the Chinaman?" I asked.

"I told the silly son-of-a-bitch to think about what kind of grief he would bring on himself if he killed Lucinda Topo. If he didn't have the money to lose on a horse race, he shouldn't bet."

Sandy reached into a desk drawer, took out an envelope and handed it to me.

"There's your four thousand back. I told Al Lee, Topo and I would let him in on a contract to lay a water line the city is putting in. We were going to cut him in anyway because he controls the Chinese labor force."

"That was all there was to it?" I asked.

"No. I told him if he didn't want to forgive a small misunderstanding, I could arrange to have the vigilante committee march down to his headquarters and lynch some suspected Chinese criminals in his employ. He kowtowed and went into a long drawn out apology about not knowing the girl was the daughter of his esteemed friend, Don Topo."

Sandy must have felt like the problem was rectified because he ordered a late breakfast for both of us. The sight of someone eating eggs and bacon while drinking scotch was unnerving. I tried to put that out of my mind and tend to my own breakfast, which was excellent.

That morning, I sent a letter to the Sandwich Islands addressed to Lucinda but she hadn't waited for any assurances regarding her safety. In less than five weeks she arrived back at our house on Kennedy Street. I didn't ask her about her romantic ocean voyage to the islands, for fear she would tell me. For a few months she devoted herself to being a better mother and tending to our house. I was still gone most of the time, which may have contributed to the decline of our relationship.

The shooting club I belonged to was an excuse to drink whiskey, smoke cigars and be out of the house on Sunday. Through steady practice, I was becoming a better shot. The real reason I went was for the gossip and business contacts. There was a great deal of information to be gained about ranches, cattle and local politics by attending the shooting matches. Especially when the whiskey started flowing. Had Topo lived in the region, he would have been a regular. I tried to think and behave as he would have. As evening approached, I declined the usual dinner invitation from my fellow target shooting enthusiasts and rode back to where I stabled my mare, Luna. Taking the very valuable Henry Rifle with me, I walked back to the house from the livery barn.

I hung the rifle in its rack in the foyer of the house and walked into the sitting room. Lucinda was resting on the couch. A remarkably handsome man was standing by the fireplace. He was dressed in an expensive suit with brightly polished boots. A gleaming gold watch-chain hung from his vest. He looked familiar but I couldn't immediately place him.

Lucinda waited a moment too long to introduce me and I felt my heart start to sink. Looking at the clock on the mantle, I saw I was home an hour earlier than I said I would be.

"Charlie, this is Procopio Bustamonte," she said by way of introduction. I didn't know if I had gotten there after some interaction had occurred or before, but it seemed my presence had interrupted something besides a social call. After something traumatic takes place, it requires several seconds to gather your wits enough to speak. Years ago, I had been kicked in the stomach by a disgruntled horse I was trying to shoe. Looking at the two of them, I felt the same lack of breath and the sensation of helplessness. The feeling of helplessness was quickly replaced by rage.

"You were at the coffee house five days ago. I watched you put your hand on the back of Lucinda's neck and whisper in her ear. Now I find you in my house." The choking voice was mine, but it felt like someone else was talking.

"Are you going to do something about that?" Procopio asked in wonder, then broke into a cold smile. "Do you know who I am?"

"According to the wanted poster, you are known as Red Hand. I hear mothers use your name to scare little children. I myself am so frightened it's amazing I can still stand upright."

With the smile still on his face, Procopio squared himself and brushed his coat back over the butt of a revolver. I held out my arms to show I wasn't wearing a side arm.

"If you wish to take some sort of action over an imagined affront, I am at your service," he said.

"Don't underestimate my husband. He has a history of shooting people," Lucinda said.

"So do I," the man responded.

Lucinda turned her gaze toward me. "There is no need to spill blood in the house, Charlie. Procopio, let's talk about business some other time."

"Where is Patricio?" I asked.

"With his aunt across town."

"That is surprisingly decent of you. Removing your child before bringing another man to our house," I said, feeling my face redden as the blood pounded in my temples. My heart rate had accelerated so much my vision became hazy.

Procopio shrugged, picked up his hat where it was lying on a chair and calmly walked out the door. I stood still for thirty-seconds, then walked to the Henry Rifle leaning against the wall and picked it up. Chambering a round, I stepped onto the porch and shouldered the weapon. The light was bad and the street was crowded. I brought the back of Procopio's head into my rifle sights. He was no more than thirty yards up the street. The slug from the Henry Rifle would explode his skull like it was a dropped watermelon.

"What if your shot passes through him and kills an innocent child? You are upset over nothing, Charlie," Lucinda said and stepped close to me. I could smell her perfume on her skin and her hair. She put her fingers on my neck so softly, they felt like warm silk.

"It's all right. It is going to be all right."

Like magic, the anger and rage went out of me. I took a breath and put down the rifle. Lucinda took my hand and led me back into the sitting room. She sat me down on the sofa and stood in front of me for a moment. Then, her expression changed to one of amusement. She swayed for a moment, then, keeping her eyes locked on mine, slowly took off her clothes.

For a second I wondered if a jury would convict me of murder were I to snap her neck. Then that thought faded, like it always did. I stood up from the sofa and roughly pulled her to me.

Our lovemaking that Sunday evening in the sitting room was the most intense and the most violent of our history. We finally quit sometime in the early morning. I dozed for a moment, then woke up with a clarity of thought concerning my situation I had never before experienced.

"I have to get out of here," I said to the ceiling.

"To where?" Lucinda asked, her voice thick with sleep.

"I don't know and I don't care as long as it isn't San Francisco and I am not around you. It's been almost a year I have lived in this cesspool. I have fulfilled my commitment to your father."

Lucinda ran her hand up the inside of my thigh, then she gripped me.

"Is this about Procopio being at the house? Is that why you are thinking about getting out of this warm bed and running into the cold fog? That was nothing. He wants to invest money in a bar across the street from my coffee house and we were talking about that," she said.

I moved her hand and sat up in the bed.

"The fog you put me in is worse than anything I would meet with outdoors. Cattle thieves like Bustamonte don't invest money."

"If you were not so insecure about me, our life could be very enjoyable," she said in her slow, bedroom voice.

"Perhaps you are right and it is acceptable for one of California's better known outlaws to be at my house when I am not expected home. Perhaps I need to start thinking in new ways."

"Why must you be so dramatic?"

"Because when I get deranged enough to point a rifle at someone, it is a dramatic moment."

"You weren't going to shoot anyone, Charlie. Nothing happened to shoot anyone over."

I thought of the way Lucinda had laid her hand on my skin when she brought me back inside the house. How she had erasing all of my anger and jealousy. No one should have that much power over another person. I shook my head in confusion.

"At least your outlaw was pretty. Maybe not the charismatic personality of Tiburcio, but very handsome. I would hate to see you drop your standards."

I rolled out of bed and stood up, reaching for my pants. My desire to leave was so strong, I twitched.

"Where are you going? It's one in the morning."

"Any place but here. Tell your father that city life doesn't agree with me. Tell him you keep odd hours and your son would be better served living in Monterey with your aunts."

"Why leave now?"

"Because if I don't, you will convince me rain isn't wet or that shit doesn't stink. When I listen to you I feel like I'm falling down a bottomless well."

"You only think you know what happened this evening," Lucinda said. Her hair looked soft and silky in the moonlight that shone through the window. It fell past her shoulders and framed one of her breasts. When I looked at her, it seemed like I could also smell her sex.

"I need to go. The things you expect me to believe gut me like a butcher guts a cow."

"Do what you think is best then. Do you want to take your clothes or leave them here in case you come to your senses?"

I pulled on my pants and shirt as I watched her lying there so calm and relaxed. I took a deep breath and stood by the bed, feeling as alone as I had ever felt.

"You have been lucky so far. Most men would not accept your behavior as peacefully as I do."

"If you ever raised your hand to me you could never sleep safely again."

Only Lucinda could threaten me with such calm and factual certitude. The twitching passed and I smiled at her as she lay in the tangled sheets of the bed.

"Another reason that leaving seems the right choice."

"You are going to get on your priceless mare and ride off into the dark?" she asked, shifting in the bed till she was half-sitting against the pillows.

"No, first the accounts at the slaughter yard need to be attended to. The men who work there need instructions and your father needs to be informed. After that, I will withdraw what I have coming to me from the firm and then I will leave."

"That is my Charlie. Even when rushing into the night in a fit of jealous rage he stops to attend to business. Don't drown crossing a swollen creek like El Judio did," Lucinda said, referring to a rich Californio who drowned in the Pajaro River.

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her not to get killed in a crossfire if the law showed up while she was entertaining a bandit, but there was no purpose in saying anything else.

I left the house with my pistol hidden under a heavy overcoat. Summer mornings in San Francisco were nearly as cold as the mountain passes. I wasn't quite sure where I was going to spend the night. I guessed I would sleep in a stall next to Luna.

When I got to the slaughterhouse, I stopped and looked back toward town. I thought I knew where Procopio Bustamonte was staying and felt I owed him something.

Did I know who he was? I did indeed. There were many reasons why a sighting of Procopio would cause a firestorm of comment. He was extraordinarily handsome. He was the nephew of Joaquin Murrieta and had a reputation as the most bloodthirsty man in the Alta Sierra country. A man who killed for the pleasure of the deed.

In the nights I went out with my compadre from the slaughterhouse we would occasionally end up on the shady side of town. Intermingled with the bars and gamboling houses were the bordellos. Some were little more than low rent cribs and some were reputed to have the most expensive furnishings in San Francisco. That morning at the office, I had overheard gossip that the dreaded outlaw Procopio Bustamonte had been seen eating dinner across the street from where a prostitute he favored worked.

Thinking of his arrogant stare when I walked into my house made the blood pound so hard in my head I saw spots. My mouth went dry remembering him with his hand on Lucinda's shoulder.

The stable hand had a bottle of salsa he liked to put on his lunch burrito. As a joke he had asked me to try it. I did and bolted out of my chair looking for water with tears running down my cheeks. I found the crusty, old bottle and poured some of the hot sauce in a coffee cup, then cut and squeezed an orange into the cup as well. I carried the coffee cup with me.

I went to the home of my business partner and stood in the fog pounding on the door. He eventually came to the door with a .44 in his hand.

"Jesus, Charlie. I usually like to sleep till daylight. What is it?"

"What is the name of the whore Procopio is supposed to be sweet on?"  
"Why would you want to know that? If you want a girl there are plenty around that aren't involved with an outlaw who uses a knife because he likes the color of blood."

"You are well acquainted with the ladies of the night. Can you give me a name or not?"

"Teresa, I think. She works in the brothel across from the Pacific Steak House. The place is called Monica's. If you are going to do something stupid I would like to watch. Give me a second and I'll jerk on my boots and go along."

"No need," I said and left the house as he yelled at me to wait. At the bottom of the steps, I stopped. Another question had occurred to me.

"Is the constable who works in Butcher Town any good?"

"Do you mean good as in easy to buy off?"

"Is he worth anything as a lawman?" I asked.

"No better or worse than the rest of them. What are you going to do?"

"Read the newspaper tomorrow to find out."

I walked the quarter of a mile to the constable's office. I pushed the door open and woke the lawman from his was slumber in his chair. He was a big man, no more than thirty years old with an oversize mustache and short brown hair. The veins on his face were already showing the signs of heavy alcohol consumption.

"You want to make a name for yourself? Become a famous footnote in history?

He stood and tried to shake the effects of sleep out of his brain.

"I have met you before I think. Charlie Horn? You're a cattle buyer."

"Would you like to advance your reputation and your position in the police department? Maybe even get your name in the newspaper? What do you say?"

Now he was awake. He stretched and scratched his neck, yawned and passed some gas.

"Which desperado are we talking about?

"Procopio Bustamonte.

"Red Hand? Jesus. He is as dangerous as they come."

"I'll bring him out from his girlfriend's room. Give me a pair of handcuffs and I'll make sure he isn't a threat."

"What if I say no?"

"I'm going down there anyway. One of us will end up shot and you will have a report to write. My way, you end up a hero. You can run for sheriff or at the least leave a story your children will tell their children."

The deputy reached into the desk drawer and tossed me some handcuffs. He wore a heavy Navy revolver and I asked for that as well, exchanging my small .32 for the larger pistol.

"What do you want out of this? Are you looking to collect the reward?"

"He is a stock thief and I am a cattleman. That's all you need to know."

"How are you going to take him?"

"I'll worry about that when we get there. Get your shotgun and follow me."

The constable picked up a shotgun and checked the weapon to make sure it was loaded. He gestured with his hand to lead the way.

We walked a considerable distance to the Pacific Steak House. It was a foggy night which got even foggier. I felt like I was outside of my body looking down at myself and the lawman walking in the misty darkness.

We drew up in front of the Pacific Steak House. I told the policeman to stand in the alley. If he heard shots, he would be in a position to shoot Procopio as he ran out of the building. If I brought out Procopio in handcuffs, he could take custody and take him back to the jail.

Walking into the bordello, I startled the painted harlot manning the front room. She jumped in surprise, then regained her composure and asked me what was my pleasure.

"I am an associate of Procopio Bustamonte and I need to speak to him immediately. The law is on the way and he needs to be warned."

"We don't have a Procopio here."

"Look, in about ten minutes a well-armed group of constables is going to show up to arrest him. Do you want to spend the next year buying new mirrors, windows and all the fine furniture that has been destroyed by a prolonged gun fight? Tell me which room he is in. I need to let him know the constables are on their way. Be smart about this. All I need is a room number."

"You don't impress me as being a friend of Procopio. Now get the hell out of here before you get your cap peeled," the woman said roughly. I stood for a moment, looking into my coffee cup.

"Tug, come throw this clown into the street," she yelled. From the hallway, a lumbering figure came into the room. From the size and demeanor of the whorehouse tough, I knew further conversation was pointless.

When the bouncer reached for me, I threw the orange juice and salsa mixture in the cup into his eyes. He clawed at his face. I whipped the heavy revolver across his temple, knocking him to the ground and followed up with a strong kick to the back of his head. Turning to the woman, I pushed her against the wall, jamming my forearm under her throat.

"Tell me the room number or I'm going to swipe your face with this pistol and then start kicking in doors," I said, my mouth inches from her ear. She glared at me, and stayed silent.

"If you don't want to be a casualty, I advise you to answer me."

"Our rooms don't have numbers. It's the last room on the left at the end of the hall."

Wondering if Bustamonte had been awakened by the ruckus, I walked rapidly down the hallway and kicked in the door. Two bodies were lying on the bed. As I entered, the woman came out of the bed and ran to the corner of the room. She crouched down by a dresser, dark hair and nipples standing out against a white body. I leveled the pistol at Bustamonte and threw the constable's handcuffs toward him.

"Put the cuffs on or get shot. Your choice," I said.

"Lucinda's husband? What are you doing here?"

"I will count to three but you will only hear me count to two," I said and cocked the pistol.

"Easy compadre. Let me get dressed first," he said.

I stepped over to a chair where a vest was draped. I lifted the vest and felt the weight of a pistol.

"One," I said and took aim at his chest.

"There is no problem here, I'll put on the handcuffs," he said then glanced toward the woman.

"Put that down, you crazy bitch," Procopio said in a level voice to the woman. I looked back at his paramour who had produced a knife and was advancing on me.

"If you try to stab him, he'll shoot me. He can't miss from this distance."

She stood with the knife in her hand, confusion on her face. She lowered her knife.

Procopio finished putting on the cuffs. I motioned to him with the pistol to walk out the door.

"Can I put on my pants, at least?"

"I think not. This isn't my pistol so I am unsure what the trigger pull is. If you so much as burp it might go off," I said.

"Relax, amigo. We can straighten this out. What would you say if I told you where I have some gold coins close by? I can share it with you. I can give you more money than you can make in a year."

I pushed him out the door, down the hall and out into the street.

The burly constable's mouth gaped open at the sight of Procopio Bustamonte walking naked into the street. He raised his shotgun and pointed it in our direction.

"Do you think you can get Red Hand down to your jail?" I asked.

He didn't say anything but nodded at the handcuffed man and pointed in the direction of his office.

"My advice to you is to update your last will and testament," Bustamonte said with an icy smile.

"My advice to you is to stick to traditional whores and stay away from married ones," I replied and handed the deputy his pistol back.

Scent of Tears

# Chapter Twenty-three

After I left San Francisco, I spent a long, arduous ten years in the high desert. I had no reason to return to San Francisco or Monterey. I was busy enough putting together a ranch and dealing with the many complications and hardships that were involved.

The difference between working cattle in the high desert and in the foothills and mountains of California are the trees and brush. There weren't many trees in the high desert of Oregon. If you had a cow that wanted to get away, he had to outrun the vaquero's horse. There was no brush to hide in. When I first started out learning to be a stockman, Genero and I would have to rope and stretch out the worst of the renegade cattle. Then we would cut and trim a three inch thick scrub oak into a six foot pole. Taking hemp rope, we would lash the pole on to the cow's horns. When the animal tried to run off into the brush, it would crash the pole into it and bounce back. A steer would fight the brush until it was exhausted. Soon, the cows wouldn't go anywhere near the brush and we could herd them where we wanted them to go.

In some ways, it was easier to work cattle in the high plains of Oregon, but there were some drawbacks. You had to ride for many miles to do anything with the cattle. A cow needed a great deal of country to support herself and her calf, so the brandings were a series of little gathers that went on for most of the year. The work never stops on any ranch, but it seemed more perpetual in the high plains.

There were other problems. Because of the distance a man needed to cover, I rode mostly thoroughbred horses with a long stride and lots of endurance. They were big, rank and sometimes stupid horses that could trot fifteen to twenty miles a day without breaking down. If they were young and vigorous enough to stand the work, they would most often buck in the morning. Some of the treacherous ones would wait until midday when their riders were relaxed. A man got hurt when he wasn't prepared for danger.

In its own way, the country was spectacular. The vast emptiness, the unlimited horizons, the total quiet and peace. The endless space could drive a cowboy crazy if he stayed out too long, like a sailor too long at sea.

I usually had a business reason to ride to Portland, but if I didn't, I would have made one up. Life was tenuous in the high desert. The Indian woman I had been living with died the previous winter. That was another reason I needed to take a trip. I too, had gotten sick, but I pulled through. The Indian woman's name roughly translated to Stars in the Night. She and our unborn baby didn't pull through. By the time that tragedy happened, I had been gone from California and from Lucinda for ten years.

Strangely enough, the news of Don Topo's death reached me just as I rode into Portland. The chances of running into a sailor who knew a stockman of my acquaintance, then passing the news on to me was unlikely. That the sailor had been in Monterey two nights before and had heard of Topo's passing was a fluke. That there was a berth on a ship sailing for Monterey on the evening tide was lucky indeed. The timing was perfect for me to attend the funeral of my mentor and benefactor. Topo would be buried soon. With no refrigeration, a corpse ripened in a hurry.

Don Topo, being dead, wouldn't know I was there. I would be returning to honor a dead man. It certainly wasn't to see Lucinda. I wondered if Don Topo's ghost would be hanging around. Genero, my old Indian mentor, said the spirit of a dead person lingers in the air for three moons before they completely depart. As a matter of respect toward the only man who had ever helped me, I stabled my saddle horse and bought passage to Monterey.

The trip along the coast was swift and uneventful the way an ocean voyage should be. Though I hadn't been back to Monterey for ten years, I found things much the same as when I left. The seals still played on the rocks and the smell of flowers still mixed with the sea breeze. The ship sailed into its mooring and I was taken in a rowboat to the pier.

At the Custom House, I asked when the Mass would be held and was informed it was scheduled for the morning. Don Topo's name was not mentioned but he was such a powerful force in Monterey, it was understood who I was talking about. I immediately went into town to buy some clothes and get a room. As I was coming out of the hotel, I nearly walked into Lucinda.

"What are you doing here, Charlie?" she asked.

"Preparing to shop for some clothes for the funeral. My condolences on the loss of your father."

"He will be missed, although death is everyone's fate," she said.

"Glad to see time has softened your manner," I replied.

I stepped back and studied her. She seemed somewhat weathered but it was a subtle thing. There were creases in her face that had not been there before. Her hair wasn't as glossy as it had been when I left her in San Francisco. Her eyes had not changed though. If anything, her eyes looked more intense, her smile more dangerous.

"If you are thinking of staying in a hotel, put it out of your mind," she said with a commanding frown.

"Where would you have me stay?"

"In the house you have always stayed at, Charlie. We would all welcome you there."

"Even you?" I asked.

"Me, most of all," she replied and took my arm. "It is so good to see you. I knew you would come. Are you married? I heard you took up with an Indian woman in the high desert."

"Cholera," I replied, surprised that any news from the wilds of Oregon would filter back down to Monterey.

"Her name was Cholera?" Lucinda asked, surprised.

"No, she died of Cholera."

"What kind of woman was she, Charlie?"

"Gentle and kind."

"Much like me," Lucinda said.

"Two peas in a pod," I said.

"Well, she's dead and you aren't," she said. "You need to buy some suitable clothes for the services in the morning. I will help you become presentable."

Like that, with her incredible self-confidence and her slim hand in the crook of my arm, she steered me down the street. It was like I had never caught her with another man and no separation of ten years had occurred. We went into a men's' clothing store and without asking my opinion, she picked out a suit and white linen shirt.

The clothing store had a rather large dressing room and despite the frowning, disapproving looks of the store owner, Lucinda went with me into the dressing room, drew up a three legged stool and squatted down on it with her knees apart to watch me change.

"My father was right. You did turn into a fine looking man, with wide shoulders and a handsome smile. With your hair long like it is now, you can't even see your ears. Do you remember when I shaved you?"

"Have you shaved Tiburcio lately?"

"You frown at me, and your tone sounds sarcastic. What you are trying to do now, Charlie? Keep a little of your pride?"

I took my pants off and put on the suit pants. The store owner walked in with his chalk and tape measure. After he made the marks he needed to hem the pants, he glanced at Lucinda, sniffed and left the room.

"Why would I have to worry about my pride?" I asked.

"I was thinking about taking you into my bed again. Would you like that? I can see part of you is reluctant but another part looks interested," she said and laughed. I was surprised she didn't point.

"It's been ten years. I didn't come here to see you. I came here to pay my respects to your father."

"The question stands. Would you like to be in bed with me again? Your eyes gave you away the second I touched you. Oh, and don't trouble your mind. I have something I need from you."

"Doesn't the request for a favor come while we are in bed?"

"If I were a normal woman, perhaps. If we were a normal couple certainly. I have always told you the truth. The truth is I need you to help me. I would also like to go to bed with you. They are two separate things. If I can only have one but not the other, it will have to suffice. I never said so at the time, but I have fond memories of you and I together."

"Who all have you slept with in the last ten years?" I asked her.

"You want me to tell you? You left because you were jealous. Now you wish to know about other men. I find that confusing."

I looked at her left hand. She still had on the ring her father had paid for, many years ago to celebrate our sham wedding.

"You aren't married?"

"I had many offers, of course. If they were rich and powerful they wanted to give me expensive presents. After they gave me things, they would try to lock me up in a big house. If they were young and handsome, they simply wanted to satisfy their lust and move on. Men will treat a woman as cheaply as she allows herself to be treated. I am not cheap, nor am I someone to be trifled with or controlled. My desire to be my own woman has always been a thorn in the side of the men in my life."

She added as an afterthought, "Besides, I was already married to you."

"Still working hard to make me feel good," I said.

"I missed you, Charlie. I thought of you often. I am so happy to see you, I feel like laughing."

"If you have many fond memories of me, why didn't you write?"

"I did write. More times than I can count, but I never mailed the letters. Remember, I didn't ask you to leave. I wasn't going to beg you to come back. When things got rough in San Francisco there were many nights I wished you had stayed."

It would take me at least a week of solitude to sort out what Lucinda said and interpret what it meant. As for now, I was speechless.

"Why didn't you come back?", she asked.

"I had to leave before your flirtations led to someone getting killed."

"Have you outgrown your jealousy?" Lucinda asked with her infuriating smile.

"Have you learned to behave with proper decorum?

Lucinda looked toward the heavens and shook her head.

"Same old Charlie," she said.

"What is the favor? Maybe I can help you out of respect for your dead father and we can forget about renewing our love life," I said.

"I have heard you can lead a man to bed but you can't make him lie down. So far, in all of California, that has only been true with you."

I only stared, because I couldn't think of anything to say and yet some perversity that I had sworn was behind me, wouldn't let me walk out of the room.

"The favor?"

"My father didn't pay taxes on three large pieces of property. The taxes weren't due for another year. In the meantime, someone came in and paid them without my father's knowledge."

"What kind of cash did he leave?"

"Around eight hundred dollars in the house and two hundred in the bank, though the bank refuses to release the money to me."

"How much is owed on the taxes?"

"Twelve thousand."

"I can't get that kind of money together unless I sell my livestock. That could take a while."

"There may be another way."

"When are the taxes due?" I asked.

Listening to myself talk, I could not believe I was letting myself be drawn into Lucinda's problems. Given the angry resolve I had made never to see her again, this was a new low.

"The money is due by the end of the week. There is some sort of fix in with the courthouse. The lien is filed in secret. Then the property becomes forfeit before the property owner knows about it. These people have been cheating the old Californio families for several years using this scheme. They have managed to foreclose on thirty-thousand acres of ground surrounding Monterey for a past due lawyer's fee of nine hundred and eighty dollars. Now the merciless curs own Monterey."

"What would you have me do?"

"Bring the lawyer for the man who is stealing the land to see me. I believe I can persuade him to tell me where the tax liens are kept and then they can be burned."

"Burning them will take care of the problem?"

"It will delay the problem. We both know my father kept large amounts of gold around. I just haven't been able to figure out where he hid it. He left me a note but all it says is "wharf" and a number. I have thought about it until I am dizzy. I can't figure it out. However, the note is a clue. It has to be. Once we figure out where he hid the gold, I can pay the tax lien."

"Why not go see this lawyer at his office?"

"It wouldn't be the right setting," she said as if she were telling me a joke.

"You mean you want to tie this lawyer to a chair, cut away his trousers and tickle his private parts with a knife blade you've heated on the stove?"

"See, I knew it. You are the only one who truly understands me, Charlie. That would be fair treatment for what he is trying to do to my family. We have fought Indians together, Charlie. We have driven cattle through mountain passes and swam dangerous rivers. We can bend this man to our will."

"You expect me to do all of this alone?"

"Vasquez is here for the funeral as well. He promised me he would help," she replied.

"There is your answer. Tiburcio has a gang. Let him handle it."

"Tiburcio is an outlaw, Charlie. If I find my father's gold, he will take it. He is willing to help, because he smells treasure. You see, I am no longer the dewy eyed little girl I was when I let Tiburcio seduce me."

The image of them together still turned my heart black, though I tried to keep it off my face.

"What makes you think I can stop Tiburcio if he finds where your father hid his gold?"

"Because you are the better man. I have seen enough of the world to realize that now. If you go up against him, my money is on you."

She stood and walked to me, reaching her long fingers behind my head and drew my face down to hers. She didn't kiss me, she seemed to inhale my breath. She smiled into my eyes and her perfume invaded my whole being.

"If we go now, we can make love in my parent's bedroom," she said.

I stepped back, pulling her hand down from my neck. "That is scandalous, even for you," I said.

"The ferocious Dõna Inez is at my sister's house, if that's what is causing you to shrink back," she said and put her other arm around my waist.

"I wasn't thinking of your mother."

"All of my sisters have tried the capital act on my parent's bed at one time or another. They say it was very exciting. I feel left out," she said never losing eye contact with me while she slowly curled herself against me.

"That is a degenerate thing to even think about and I will not have any part of it," I said with a great deal of conviction.

Later in the morning I watched Lucinda as she sat astride me. The mirror in Don Topo's bedroom was old but had excellent clarity. As I lay under her, I could see the rivulets of sweat slowly make their way down her back. She lifted her hair from her neck and fanned herself. I propped myself up with a pillow.

"Don't you feel this is, at the least, disrespectful to your dead father?" I asked.

"My father loved you and you love me. We are together and we are happy, at least you sounded happy a minute ago. How is that disrespectful? My mother may not approve, but I don't care what she thinks."

Lucinda picked up a corner of the bed sheet and wiped the sweat from my forehead. I must have looked as quizzical as I felt.

"You are always in a fog when it comes to me. Are you this hazy with other women?"

"I thought we weren't going to talk about other people," I said.

"It bothers you, not me."

"If you are implying I am ignorant of why you do what you do, you are stating the obvious. You don't seem to be particularly upset about your father dying. I don't understand that. You were the favorite daughter."

"My sisters are all wailing and pulling their hair in grief. My mother's mind seems to have wandered from the shock. Someone has to keep their wits about them or we are all going to be left without a pot to piss in. It seems that person has to be me."

I must have looked aghast. She smiled and traced her fingers around my ears, pushing the hair back.

"His death hasn't sunk in yet," she said and slipped off me to curl up by my side. "Soon enough, the shock will hit. I cannot afford grief right now. I had more than my share of good times with my father back when he was proud of me, when I would ride his race horses and compete in the events at the fiestas. Those memories will catch up with me and I won't be able to stop crying, just like my sisters. I feel it coming. That's why we are lying here in bed, Charlie. In my mind, you and my father are the same type. You are both good, dependable men. You are both men who generate respect. You both disapprove of me. This is my way of mourning him, and of holding myself together," she said.

I looked down at her, searching for the joke in her eyes. For once she seemed sincere.

"Did you know my father quit talking to me after you left? Patricio went to live with his aunts and my father saw no reason to keep up our relationship."

"I had no idea. Why?"

"He came to town to do some business and took me to dinner. After a bottle of wine, he unburdened himself. He said I had never been a respectful daughter. He went on about how much he needed you and blamed me for running you off. He called me a harlot and stopped just short of calling me worse. After that, neither of us saw the need to continue our association. I never saw him again before he died. You could have mended our relationship if you had come back. You have your pride, so I forgive you."

"I have no pride when it comes to you, as I have proven this morning. I see you and lose the power of speech and thought entirely, much to my disgust."

She glanced suddenly at the window.

"I hope you haven't lost the power of movement because I think I hear my mother and sisters coming through the front door," Lucinda said.

I pulled on my clothes and crawled out the bedroom window, barely making it down the trellis to the enclosed garden without breaking my neck. I walked quickly around to the front of the house and knocked on the door. The oldest sister opened the door, stared at me for a moment until recognition came into her eyes. She burst into tears and threw her arms around me. That brought the other two sisters to the door and they both hugged me as well.

Looking past the front room, I saw Lucinda having a hushed, but heated, discussion with Dõna Inez. When she saw me at the door, Lucinda came down the stairs and moved me away from her sisters.

"Charlie and I have things to discuss. I will be back in a while," she said ushering me out the door, closing it behind us.

"Can I stay with you at the hotel tonight?" she asked.

"Why?"

"Because in a moment my mother is going to walk into her room and see her bed. I pulled the covers up but there is a large wet spot. My mother will know in a glance what it is and who is responsible. If I stay there she will make me feel like the scandalous child the way she always does."

"Which you are." I said.

"Do you own many cows in the Oregon desert?"

"A fair amount."

"Knowing you, that means thousands. So, you are a big cattle rancher. You have a pistol stuck in your belt and money in the safe at the hotel. Yet, you scramble out the window and climb down the lattice like a little boy who has been caught sneaking a drink of whiskey. It was worth ruining my mother's bed to see you flee out the window."

"You're the one who asked to stay in the hotel with me because you are afraid of your mother."

"Maybe we are still like children running the streets of this little coastal town. That isn't so bad, is it, Charlie?"

Her memories must have been happier than mine. I could only shake my head as I felt her hand tug my arm. I stopped and faced her.

"If you mean you have once again caused me to do something foolish and nearly get killed in the process, this is very much like our childhood."

"Don't be so dramatic. You would have survived a fall from the window," she said and snuggled her face into my arm. She reached up and kissed me under the ear.

"How many years have we been married?" she asked.

"It has been thirteen years since the wedding."

As we walked down the street, people looked our way. Lucinda was wearing a black dress and I wore an expensive suit. Neither of us had been around for a decade. Lucinda's overwhelming presence was still in effect. People stopped and stared. She suddenly stopped and pointed.

"The attorney who plans to steal everything my father worked for has his office across the street."

"Can we deal with that after the funeral?"

"Yes, it can wait, but not for very long."

We spent the night getting reacquainted, causing the guests in the adjoining room of the hotel to bang on the wall and yell they about trying to sleep. Just before dawn, after I had finally drifted off to sleep, Lucinda nudged me sharply in the ribs.

"Who did you enjoy more?" she asked.

"Enjoy how?"

"Don't be coy. Who did you like better, the Indian woman or me?"

"I refuse to talk about her. She was a good woman. She is dead and that is the end of it," I said.

"Just answer the question, Charlie."

There could be no woman that I desired more than Lucinda. If knew that if I ever found a woman even more exciting than Lucinda, I would spontaneously combust into flames, but I didn't want to give Lucinda the satisfaction of knowing it.

"I am glad to see the thought of me with someone else bothers you."

"It doesn't bother me. I am just curious," she said.

"If it doesn't bother you, let me get some sleep and quit asking silly questions," I said and rolled over.

The morning came shortly after. Lucinda left in time to go home and gather her clothes for the funeral. The hotel bustled with activity, due to the many visitors in town for the funeral.

The mission was not the huge castle I remembered from my youth, only a large adobe building. The pews were old and the place smelled musty. I entered the church and sat down. The Mass itself was a blur for me. I wanted to stand and command the podium to pay tribute to Don Topo. It had been many years since I had been in Monterey. When I left, I was very young and now I was thirty pounds heavier with scarred hands and eyes with a permanent squint from the sun. In spite of the fine new suit, I looked like what I was, an uneducated brush vaquero. Very few people recognized me. I wanted to stride to the front of the church and say that no one had ever helped me or believed in me or told me I could accomplish great things except Don Topo. In the end, feeling like an outsider, I said nothing. I sat in the back pew while Lucinda went to the front of the church to sit with the other family members. Patricio came up and hugged me, looking like he would become every bit as handsome and dashing as his father, Tiburcio Vasquez. He recounted an incident we had with a bear. Don Topo had sent him to stay with me for a summer in Oregon and during that visit, I found him to be brave, lazy and charming. He was ready for mischief but also polite and respectful. Genero was at the funeral, bent and crippled with age, but still managing a grin. I was able to visit with him for a moment and renew old times, much to my delight. We discussed horses and drank coffee until most of the crowd had left.

Dõna Inez, who had grown more rotund and buxom, sidled up next to me. She peered up and gave me a cursory embrace. She handed me an envelope with a frown.

"My husband wanted me to give you these letters. I have no idea what they say and I have no idea why they were so important to him, but here they are. Thank you for coming," she said.

I offered my condolences and got a baleful stare for my troubles. No doubt Dõna Inez was thinking about the copious stains our lovemaking left on her bed.

"Charlie, it's time to seek legal counsel," Lucinda said brightly and took my arm as she nodded back toward town.

Scent of Tears

# Chapter Twenty-four

The law office on Alvarado Street had a discreet sign on the door that read P. L. Peperich, Attorney at Law. I looked at my watch and saw it was four-thirty, so I waited for someone to come out of the office onto the street.

As I was lurking on the street corner, someone called my name.

"Charlie. I am glad to see you. I wanted to thank you for coming to the funeral."

I turned around and saw the short, round figure of Pilar, Don Topo's youngest daughter, coming up the wooden sidewalk. She reached up and embraced me, which was both welcome and awkward. For lack of something better to say, I asked her where she was living.

"I live here, in Monterey, with my husband. He is a carpenter and now we are trying to build and sell houses. He is a hardworking man. He will do well but it takes time."

"I'm sure you help him with that. You were always a bright girl," I said, remembering her sharp wit and subtle sense of humor. Of Lucinda's three sisters, Pilar was the only one I thought of as a friend.

"You don't look as deadly as I thought you would," she said.

I was taken back. "Why do you say that?"

"As you know by now, Lucinda has been trying to settle our father's affairs. She often invokes your name as a dangerous force who will sweep down from the North and slay our enemies," she replied with a half-smile. "I see you still come when she calls."

"I am here of my own violation."

"How strange. She told everyone you would be coming. She uses your name like a club, saying you will burst in and right the wrongs."

"It is only by lucky circumstance that I am here at all."

"She told us you would come back to Monterey and, poof, here you are," Pilar said. She gave me the look that women have when they are deciding how much to tell someone who may not be smart enough to keep their mouth shut.

"I shouldn't speak badly of Lucinda. She is fighting like a badger to keep my father's ranches from being sold to pay the taxes. Of course, she has the time, as she has only one child and she has never really taken care of him. As infuriating as she acts, I know she is looking out for my sisters and myself."

"I am sure it will all work out," I said.

Pilar looked at me wistfully. "It would have been a better world if my father had forced you to marry me, rather than Lucinda. Of course I didn't get knocked up by an outlaw like she did," Pilar said softly, the way a really sharp blade enters a ribcage.

I stood there, surprised at my lack of understanding. I had no idea that Pilar had coveted my affection for Lucinda.

"You are a good man. My father did a terrible thing when he forced you to marry her. Lucinda has been very hard on you, Charlie. Even so, she really does have feelings for you."

"You sound like you are close to her."

"We never talk. She is insufferable and arrogant beyond words."

"How do you know what she thinks about me?"

"I read the letters she wrote to you. There must be fifty of them. She is a very mixed up woman."

"I never got any letters from her," I said. Many was the time in Oregon, I wondered if Lucinda had completely forgotten about me.

"She never sent them but she wrote quite a bundle. They were dated, like a diary. She confessed her fears and mistakes. She asked for your forgiveness and understanding. In her letters, she explains why she did what she did. I suppose she is explaining them to herself, since she never sent them to you. Anyway, in her own strange way, she does think of you. Maybe she even cares for you. I have to pick up my children so I will get going. It was nice to see you again, Charlie."

She turned to go, then turned back around. "Don't tell Lucinda about the letters. She is already angry with me. If she knew I discovered where she hid her private correspondence at my father's house, who knows what she would do. I only tell you this because Lucinda does need your help. She may not bring herself to say it, but she does. We all do." Pilar said. She smiled sadly, kissed me on the cheek and left me there, scratching my jaw in wonderment.

At about five thirty, a heavy set man came through the door onto the street. He stopped after locking the door, which indicated no one else was in the office. He leaned against a tie rail and stretched his back after a long day of riding an office chair.

The lawyer's hair was slicked back and his face was unlined. He wasn't a bad looking man, perhaps even handsome except for being overweight. His jowls draped over his starched collar and his belly draped over his belt. Peperich started down the street and I came onto the sidewalk after him.

"Mr. Peperich. A moment of your time, sir," I said as I raised my hand in his direction.

Looking slightly annoyed, Lawyer Peperich came back to the front of his office.

"Do I know you?" he inquired.

"We may have met. I apologize for bothering you when you are on your way home. I was hoping for a word. It won't take long and I am very much in need of some legal advice."

I had dressed in my new suit of clothes with black pants and a brocade coat and black tie. My shirt was freshly starched, my hair freshly barbered and my face closely shaved. Except for the sunburned face and scared hands, I could have looked like a town man in need of a lawyer. Peperich reopened the door to his office and we went back inside. He walked to the back of the building to his office and sat down at his desk.

He extended his hand toward the client's chair in front of the desk but I declined to sit. Peperich cocked his head in question.

"Sir, what would you do if someone had secretly paid a tax lien on a piece of property and was going to use it to gain title to the property?"

Peperich considered for a moment.

"What do you mean when you say secretly obtained a tax lien?"

"Paid the tax lien without the owner of the property knowing about it."

"Well, the property owner pays the tax lien and retains the property."

I nodded as if a cloud had been lifted.

"What if there was a death and because of the confusion there wasn't any money available to pay the tax lien. Keep in mind the tax lien wouldn't be due from the state but rather from the person who, without the knowledge of the property owner or his heirs, secretly bought the lien. This person has a very good attorney, if you confuse good with unethical. This attorney has a fix in at the records office so that if the person who owns the property doesn't come up with the cash in a very short period of time, they lose the ground."

"Who are the people in this predicament?"

"The late Don Topo is the property owner in question. His daughter can't come up with the money by the deadline and I am trying to help her out. What would you suggest I do?"

Peperich seemed perplexed. He knew that he was the unethical attorney in question. If I meant to do him harm, then why was I talking to him in broad daylight and throwing all of these names around?

"This seems like a complex issue. Perhaps we would be better served if you made an appointment during normal business hours and we looked into the matter then," Peperich said. His manner was congenial and relaxed but his brow was knitted. He started to get up.

"Almost certainly we can solve the problem this afternoon," I said and slipped a five shot revolver from my waist band.

Peperich's eyes widened but his smile stayed on his face.

"You certainly don't think I can solve a legal problem at gunpoint. That is absurd," he said as he sat back down in his chair.

"All right, then let us talk about who would object if you were shot to death here in your office. Your wife, Abigail doesn't really care for you anymore. The affection of your mistress is most certainly tied to your pocket book. Your daughter is married and living in the East. She never writes you, so she must not be concerned about your welfare. The thief who has hired you to rape people through paying their taxes then taking their land undoubtedly owes you money for service rendered. He would be glad to see you laid out in a coffin so he wouldn't have to pay you. Unless you know someone I've missed, nobody is going to be very upset if you become dead."

"Why are you telling me all of this?"

I looked at him and then settled in a chair.

"I know a lot about you but I am not associated with you. If you die this afternoon, I will walk out the back of your office, get on a ship and leave Monterey. There is nothing that ties us together. The Sheriff will have nothing to go on. A dead lawyer with no clues pointing to an assailant won't generate much effort from anybody, especially since no one cares about you anyway. I walk out the door and that will be the end of it. I am not stealing anything and we never met, so disregard my orders at your peril."

"I fail to see why you are telling me this," he said.

"You are a logical man and so I think you can understand how I can shoot you without consequence. I would prefer not to, but if you refuse to follow my instructions, I'm sending you onto your next life. I also know you have a gun in your office desk and one in your safe. When you open the safe in a minute, don't get silly."

"How do you know so much about me?" Peperich asked. The smile left his face.

"Servants tend to know all sorts of things. Now, open the safe in the corner. I already know that what I am after isn't in the safe but as long as we are here, why not make sure?"

"You would have to be crazy to do this and you don't look crazy to me," he said and sat further back in his chair. It was a good bluff because he said it casually.

"Do you want the first shot in the stomach or in the head? I have to say that you probably have a better chance surviving the head shot. Bullets go in the mouth, knock out a few teeth then continue out the cheek. I have seen them bounce off the skull or penetrate the skin and travel between the skull and skin. A stomach shot seems less risky on first consideration but, it is my experience, a stomach shot may nick an artery or severe your spine. If none of those things are hit, you still may die of peritonitis. Whether I shoot you in the stomach or in the face, the second bullet will be in the back of the skull."

I stood up and looked down at him. He must have seen something in my face because he held up his hands and slowly got out of the chair. He walked to the corner and knelt down to twirl the combination. I moved to the side of the desk where I would have a clear shot if he decided to go for a pistol.

"I haven't seen you around town. Do you own property in Monterey?"

"If you are asking if you have stolen property from me personally, then no, you have not. I am only helping a friend."

The safe came open after two tries. Inside, were stacks of papers, folders and a box of cigars.

"Pick up the papers, put them in the trash and come with me," I said and waited for him to stand back up. I checked my watch, then directed him toward the back door of his office. A freight wagon waited in the alley. The driver had a dark scarf pulled up around his face and a black hat pulled down over his eyes.

"Lay in the back of the wagon Mr. Lawyer and I am going to throw this tarp over you. When we get to where we're going, I'll pull the tarp off you. Until then, lie quiet."

"That is telling him, Charlie."

"How did you get roped into this?" I asked Tiburcio.

"Would I miss a chance to right the wrongs perpetrated by a gringo lawyer against my people?" he replied with a wolf's grin.

Scent of Tears

# Chapter Twenty-five

Two miles out of Monterey, Tiburcio turned the team and wagon off the main road onto a rutted wagon road. A mile later we drew up in front of a cabin. I jumped down from the wagon and pulled the tarp back. After a moment, our hostage sat up and eased himself out of the back, careful not to get any splinters in his backside. He looked around at the surrounding hills and then at the cabin.

"This is the old Montez Place," he said.

"I believe you and your partner paid the taxes on it and took it from the rightful owners," Tiburcio said in a pleasant voice.

"You are Vasquez, the outlaw," Peperich exclaimed.

"This is true. I am Vasquez and I am at your service," Tiburcio said, smiling at the recognition, then touched his left hand to his hat brim. "However, I am not nearly the bandit you are, Mr. Peperich. Is it true you and your partner, David Jacks, swindled the good citizens of Monterey out of the thirty-thousand acres the town sits on by paying a lawyer's lien of nine hundred ninety-one dollars and fifty cents? I am humbled in the presence of a true bandit such as yourself. You are a thief's thief."

"There was nothing illegal done. Perhaps you two reasonable-looking, well-dressed gentlemen could reconsider this misunderstanding and let me walk back to town. The whole incident can be forgotten, I assure you."

"That sounds like a fair request. What do you say, Charlie? Should we let him go?"

"Not quite yet," I replied.

"Now, both of you speak like educated men. I can see by your clothes you are civilized gentlemen. Surely we can work something out that will benefit everyone. I don't have a great deal of money, but I can make it worth your while to turn me loose."

"What do you say, Charlie? Should we be reasonable men and turn him loose?"

I said nothing, but indicated the lawyer should walk into the cabin. He didn't seem to like that. He liked it even less when I directed him to sit in a stout wooden chair bound together with rawhide straps.

"I haven't done anything wrong. I did some legal work for a client. You can't hold that against me," the lawyer said soothingly. "Let us forget the whole thing. This is not right by anyone's standards."

Neither Tiburcio nor I responded to his request for a moment, then Tiburcio spoke.

"Not only is this man a master thief, but he has balls the size of a range bull's. You talk to us about fairness when you are about to foreclose on a dead man's property and leave his family to beg for food."

I had only seen good natured indifference before, but now there was a tiny red spark in Tiburcio's eyes. Peperich saw it too and shrank back into the chair.

"This is the first time I have met either one of you. Why don't you tell me what it is I can do to remedy this?", he said.

"Perhaps you could tell us where the tax liens are." I answered.

"At the county recorder's office back in town," he said, regaining some of the confidence in his voice.

Tiburcio went outside and came back with some papers clutched in his hand.

"These are the documents I liberated from the county courthouse last night. It is all I could find regarding Don Topo's property."

"How did you get those papers?"

"You called me Vasquez the bandit. If I can steal gold coins at gunpoint, I can steal papers from a file drawer. These papers don't completely solve the dilemma we face. A man who is hated as much as your client will have copies. We need those copies."

"Then ask him. Why bother with me?"

"When your client heard Topo died he must have felt that public sentiment would turn against him. Jacks is not a stupid man. He is nowhere to be found," Tiburcio said.

I looked down at our guest, "According to the local newspaper, your partner David Jacks called everyone that was living on the land he stole, squatters. If a group of citizens calling themselves The Squatters League of Monterey had sent a letter to me, stating they were going to suspend my animation between heaven and hell, I might have left town myself. Jacks has left you holding the bag. Why you are still here is the question. As Tiburcio says, you must have big cojones to stay around."

"I don't know anything about a copy of tax papers that may or may not exist. This is ridiculous. You can't make me tell you what I don't know."

"I am starting to understand the lawyer's argument, Charlie. Shouldn't we just let him go? If he doesn't know, he doesn't know," Tiburcio said.

"I agree. If there is such a thing as an innocent lawyer, he is with us in this cabin. Still, we had better get the third vote before we make a decision."

"What third vote?" Peperich said, now more annoyed than afraid.

Tiburcio went to the corner of the cabin and picked up a length of hemp rope.

"If I could trouble you to place your hands down at your side, the third member of our committee requested you be tied up before they arrive."

"What third member?" Peperich said and started to get up out of the chair. Before his butt had cleared the wooden seat, he was looking at Tiburcio's Colt Dragoon pointed at his nose. Tiburcio thumbed back the hammer.

"I find in times of stress it helps if the people you are dealing with are tied securely. I must insist."

Peperich settled back down and Tiburcio handed me his pistol, then neatly tied the lawyer to the chair.

"I would turn you loose now but.... I can only speak for myself. I am a little frightened of our third partner. She is quite an intense woman."

"She?" Peperich asked, sounding confused.

"Yes, the daughter of Don Topo. She feels that, through manipulation of the law, you are going to undo all of the effort her father put forth over the years to provide for his family. She erroneously believes you are stealing the inheritance her father left to her mother and sisters. I know from talking to you that are innocent of wrong doing. She will be here presently and you will have the chance to defend yourself."

"And if I don't convince her?"

"How fond are you of your nose? I can see from your expression that you are quite fond of it. All I can say is, your nose may not be the most important appendage she cuts off if you can't answer her questions."

As if on cue, the sound of approaching hoof beats could be heard in the darkness. Through the window I could see the slim form of Lucinda rein her horse into a sliding stop, then throw herself out of a side saddle onto the ground. Whether she kicked the door open with her foot, or hit it with her shoulder, the door to the small cabin blew open and crashed against the wall with the force of a thunderclap. Tiburcio had lit a candle so that the room was illuminated in the falling dusk. There was still enough evening twilight outside to silhouette Lucinda's slight figure.

Lucinda was dressed in her black mourning dress and tendrils of black hair framed her face and spilled down her neck and back. Her face was a mask of hatred. Her normally light blue eyes were as black as ink. If ever there was an image of the angel of death, Lucinda was surely it.

She paused in the doorway as her eyes adjusted to the light. She moved quickly to the stone fireplace where she swept up a small shovel that was used to clean out the ashes. She raised the shovel shoulder high, and taking two mincing steps, let out a piercing screech and swung the shovel blade at Peperich's head.

Tiburcio was just quick enough to get his arm around her waist and stop her forward momentum. She missed the lawyer's skull by a whisker. Peperich threw himself back and the chair fell over onto the floor.

"Lucinda, he can't tell you what you want to know if you break his jaw or slice open his jugular," Tiburcio said, fighting to keep her contained.

I went over and got an arm under Peperich's shoulder and brought him, and the chair, into an upright position. His eyes were round and all color had drained from his face. A small cut on his forehead dripped blood.

"May I suggest you come up with a plan to get us the copies of the tax documents from David Jack? I am going to have to let the woman go sometime. It would help your immediate future if you had something to say that she wants to hear."

"What did I do?" Peperich asked again, but this time his voice was no longer the modulated voice of a courtroom lawyer.

"What did you do?" Lucinda growled. "You and Mr. David Jacks were going to secretly pay the taxes on my father's ranches, foreclose on them and leave my family without any way to feed themselves. If I hadn't looked at the county records to see exactly what my father owned, and seen the paid liens, you would have gotten away with it. You Yankee leaches, you come into this country and twenty years later you have sucked it dry. No more code of honor, no more week-long fiestas and no more enjoyment of life without fearing theft of property every waking moment. The Alta Sierra that I knew as a girl is gone. You gringos walk like cockroaches across a beautiful cake. All you know how to do is cheat and steal. Before you tell me where the tax liens are, perhaps you should tell me why I should let you live."

"I didn't break the law in any way," Peperich said and focused his gaze on Tiburcio. Tiburcio pointed toward Lucinda and raised his shoulders in a shrug.

"My father worked his whole life to provide for his family. If your scheme goes as planned, all his effort, his sweat and his planning will be wasted because you and the diseased, putrid dog's anus you work for figured out a way to use the laws to your advantage."

Tiburcio still had his arms lightly around Lucinda's waist.

"If I let you go are you going to hurt our lawyer friend so badly he can't talk?"

Lucinda answered with a grunt and Tiburcio released her. She smoothed her skirt and straightened her black jacket.

"Go outside. He will tell me all I need to know."

"Tied or not, I don't want to leave you in the room by yourself with him," I said.

"You are saying Tiburcio doesn't know how to tie someone up? Stand outside the door. If I yell for you, come rescue me. If he yells for you, he hasn't told me what I need to know."

Peperich's already wide eyes got even wider. Tiburcio and I walked through the cabin door out onto the porch. Lucinda shut the door.

Tiburcio took a pouch filled with small cigars from his coat. He reached into the pouch and pulled one out and then offered me the pouch. I declined, took a kitchen match out of my vest pocket and lit Tiburcio's cigarillo. A shrill, piercing scream came from inside the cabin. Tiburcio looked sharply at me and stepped back inside. I followed him.

The smell of Peperich's blood and fear filled the room. One side of the lawyer's face was soaked red. A v shaped notch had been cut in his left ear. Lucinda had earmarked the lawyer the way the vaqueros earmarked a calf at a branding. Peperich let out little raspy squeals with each breath.

"What did you do that for?" I asked.

"You suggested it," she replied.

"I was kidding. You can't just slice him up," I said in exasperation. Vasquez stood back, smiling at the argument between Lucinda and myself  
"He was telling me he didn't know anything about the papers Jacks has. I just wanted to introduce him to the first thing that happens when an unmarked bull is caught by vaqueros. A notch is cut in the ear, then a brand is applied to his hide and finally the bull loses his huevos. Of course, if the lawyer can come up with a plan to give me the papers I need, we can stop with the ear mark. If not, I've brought a cinch ring that I can heat in the fireplace and continue with the branding. If he still wants my father's ranch, we can start by burning the Topo brand on his cheek."

"For the love of God, get me out of here," Peperich cried, looking to me.

Tiburcio continued to act as if he found this exchange amusing.

"Lucinda hates to do domestic chores. My advice is to tell her what she wants to know before she builds the fire. If she has to go to the trouble of building the fire she will most likely brand you whether you talk or not. I don't even want to think about what will happen if you still refuse to help," Tiburcio said.

"Listen, I don't know where Jacks keeps any of his paperwork. He has a big safe at his house. I would guess the papers are there," Peperich replied, tears flowing freely down his cheeks.

"What is the combination to this big safe?" Lucinda asked.

"Why would I know? Jacks doesn't trust me. He doesn't trust anyone. Try his wife's birthday. Try his first child's birthday. You're the robbers. Blow the damn safe open."

The three of us looked at him.

"I don't know the combination. Kill me if you must, but keep that woman away," he pleaded.

"Come, let us go to Jacks' home. I spent eighteen months in San Quentin with a thief who talked a great deal about how to crack a safe. It is at least worth a chance."

Tiburcio quizzed the lawyer about where the safe was located in Jacks' house. He asked if there were any other people living in the house and if Jacks had taken his family with him when he left Monterey.

"You stay with Lawyer Peperich and keep him safe." Lucinda said to me. I agreed. Tiburcio and Lucinda climbed in the wagon and headed back to town.

"That woman is crazy." Peperich exclaimed when he heard the heavy wagon making its way down the rutted road.

Leaning against the wall, I felt in my pocket for the packet of papers that Dõna Inez had given me. I pulled them out and undid the string.

"You aren't going to let that crazy woman come back and use her knife on me, are you?" Peperich said, pleading.

"It will depend on whether they can open the safe. If they can't they will probably want more ideas."

"For the love of God, you have to talk some sense into her."

"I have known her all my life and I have never seen anyone change her mind. She has killed two men in front of me, so her threats to mutilate you are real enough. She fears nothing and draws no lines when it comes to violence. Perhaps you should say your prayers that Tiburcio learned how to properly open a safe when he was in prison."

The package of papers contained a letter that Don Topo must have been in the process of writing to me when he fell over dead from the stroke or heart attack, that killed him. I read the letter, which started out referencing the effects of the drought and the management and marketing of the cattle in Oregon. It was detailed, drawn out and meandering. I often thought while reading Topo's letters that he was exploring his options through correspondence. Toward the end of the letter, my father-in-law said he was afraid his health was failing and that he had included a very important piece of information. He emphasized that I was not to lose the attached note.

"Why am I being persecuted for helping to change how things are done in California? Doesn't that crazy woman know property taxes are needed for public schools and bridge construction? Am I to be branded and castrated for simply paying taxes?" Peperich was getting his courtroom voice back.

I put down Topo's letter. "I won't use my knife on you for paying taxes, but I might stick a horse turd in your mouth and secure it with a handkerchief if you talk to me like I am stupid or refer to my wife as a crazy woman again," I replied.

"Your wife?" Peperich said, his eyes bulging.

A small piece of paper fell out of the packet onto the ground. I stooped over and picked up the paper. It had writing on it that I couldn't make it out.

Peperich opened with a new argument. "The Spanish treated the California Indians much worse than Americans have ever treated the decedents of the Spaniards. That was the true injustice. There were hundreds of thousands of Indians, maybe millions of Indians in this state before the Spaniards brought Small Pox and Cholera to the region. The native Indians that didn't die of disease were made into slaves for the Missions. The women were taken as concubines, or simply raped by the Spanish soldiers and their culture destroyed. How can anyone of Spanish decent be outraged by the Americans after the horror they perpetrated on the Indians? At least if you pay your taxes you can keep your land. The Indians kept nothing. How can a Spaniard blame me when they have done much worse?"

"You must have been a lawyer for a long time. It seems impossible for you to shut up."

Peperich didn't seem to hear me. His nerves were so jangled he babbled on.

"Not that the Spanish were wrong in taking the land from the Indians. Always, the stronger and smarter will take from the weak. I don't mean to say that the Spanish were weak, it's just that things always evolve. I should not be held accountable for being part of the change. Please, for the love of God, let me go."

I continued to look at the slip of paper. In the poor light, I couldn't tell what the scribbling meant. I turned the paper sideways and then upside down. Suddenly it struck me and I grinned. Don Topo had left me a great secret on the little scrap of paper. He had reached from beyond the grave to assure me I still had his trust. Peperich's blathering intruded on my thoughts.

"Despite what you say, I am a good man. Am I to be killed over a political misunderstanding?"

I went to a shelf and took down a kerosene lantern. It had a small amount of fluid that I poured in a circle around Peperich's chair. The lawyer must have envisioned himself on fire, because his screams reached a soprano pitch. A putrid smell filled the cabin as his bowels let loose.

I drew my knife from the back of my belt and advanced toward Peperich. He shrieked one last time and drew back as far as he could without tipping the chair over.

"You are right. I need to shut up. Consider it done."

Grabbing a handful of his thick brown hair, I held it up and put the blade of the knife against his scalp. Peperich shrieked again.

"You seem to be an intelligent fellow. At least a well-dressed fellow. Let's see if you can grasp something important to your health. Tiburcio Vasquez is a famous bandit with little to lose. Killing an unpopular lawyer would only add to his legend. Remember, he rides with a gang and has many contacts in the criminal world who would jump at the chance to do him a favor. He has companeros from Los Angeles to San Francisco and every wide spot in the road in between. If any of them catch you, then you will find yourself in a chair ringed with kerosene and a bunch of miscreants gathered around you playing with matches."

"What are you saying?" Peperich cried.

"That as long as you are in California, your life is forfeit. You can never step outside your house at night, or have a drink in a saloon, or visit your girlfriend without the very real possibility that a shotgun or pistol will be emptied into your face. In that circumstance a man such as yourself might find leaving the Alto Sierra the best choice. Do you agree?"

"Does this mean you are letting me go?"

"Only if I feel you understand that leaving the area is your only option. Don't stop to change your underwear, don't say goodbye to anyone and don't let the morning sun find you in Monterey,'" I said and let the point of my knife penetrate the skin on his scalp.

"Let me go and you will never see me again," Peperich said, and so I took the knife from his head and cut the ropes.

Scent of Tears

# Chapter Twenty-six

I sat in the corner of the cabin waiting for Lucinda to return. With some kindling stacked by the fireplace, I made a fire. I kept turning the small note in my hands, hoping that I was right. I fed the fire while I waited. Eventually the wagon pulled up and stopped outside the cabin. I stepped out into the blackness.

"What happened to Tiburcio? Did you get the safe open?"

Lucinda wrapped the driving lines around the brake on the wagon. She stepped off into the dirt.

"The safe is still closed. Whoever instructed Tiburcio in the art of safe cracking must not have practiced on that model. When we were leaving Monterey, Tiburcio sees Matt Tarpi, the head of the vigilante committee walking up the street with two other men. Tiburcio disappeared into the night. Didn't even say goodbye to me. He simply turned into a dark alley and left. I think Matt Tarpi is the only man alive that scares Tiburcio."

"Tiburcio is no fool. The Monterey Vigilante Committee hangs a bandit first and holds the trial later. They hang them especially quick if they have brown skin."

Lucinda took a stray strand of hair and fixed it back up behind her ear.

"You were certainly gone long enough."

"Yes, Charlie, you have found me out. Tiburcio and I stopped alongside the road and have been fornicating these many hours. Can we quit this nonsense? I have thought of some more questions for the lawyer. I will get what I need from him or he will pay the price. "

"I turned him loose," I said.

Lucinda drew herself up to her full height and took a small step to the side like she was going into shock. Her nostrils flared and her eyes narrowed. "I must have misunderstood. You were not so weak as to release our hostage before he has told me what I needed to know?"

"Would you rather crucify me with your stare or hear about what I have discovered?"

"What made you decide you could turn that cancerous liar loose before I was done with him?"

"You were going to carve up his other ear so he had a matched set."

Her voice was harsh. "That was one possibility. Enough about my ideas. What plan have you concocted in the little, tiny brain that sits between those big, floppy ears?"

"We return to Monterey. Perhaps your father can save his ranches and his family from the grave," I said.

"In the past, all you ever did was run from me. Suddenly, you are taking charge?"

"I can run away from you again if you don't calm down. I see no justification for torturing someone, no matter how corrupt they are."

"Then you are weak," she said and lifted her nose in the air. "You are not a Californio but a Yankee."

"Or perhaps I am not a savage. Come with me to the wharf."

"First you turn our captive loose. Now you want to take me on a wagon ride. I have long suspected you were dropped on your head as a child, Charlie. That would explain a lot."

"All the sweet talk in the world isn't going to keep me from taking the wagon to the wharf. If you want to go, get in. If not, squat here in the dirt and vent your anger until you feel better," I said and climbed up onto the wagon seat. I had the reins unwrapped and the wagon brake released before Lucinda scrambled up beside me.

She crossed her arms over her breasts and put her pretty nose in the air, again. For a second I could see the distraught, angry girl who rode stiffly to a marriage she didn't want to a husband she didn't like all those years ago.

"What do you think you have found?" she finally said after the wagon had bumped along for half a mile.

The wagon creaked and groaned as we swung back onto the road leading to Monterey.

"Do you have the piece of paper your father gave you with the numbers written on it?" I asked. I pulled out my slip of paper and handed it to her.

"Did it look like this?

"Yes, it did. So what?"

"He gave you part of the puzzle and he gave me part of the puzzle. I don't know what the numbers mean. Perhaps we can find out when we get to the wharf," I said.

She stomped her foot on the floor of the wagon several times.

"This is a clue to where your father hid his gold and yet, you remain upset. What is the matter now?"

"That silly little man. He could have trusted me with the whole map. He didn't need to give you half and make this into a child's game. He always liked you better than he did me."

"Anyone who knows you would understand that."

Lucinda drew back her fist and punched a shockingly painful blow to my shoulder.

"You had better be right about these little pieces of paper. If you are wrong about this you may find yourself tied to the chair."

"Same old Lucinda."

We pulled up at the warehouse. A night-watchman heard the wagon and came out of the office. The watchman wasn't there because of theft, so much as the chance of fire.

"Can I help you?" the guard asked. He was a very old gentleman dressed in a long overcoat and holding a lantern. The warehouse dock was also hung with lanterns to provide light.

"We need to check something inside the warehouse."

"Miss, we are closed. You will have to return in the morning," he replied.

I stepped off the wagon and reached in my pocket. I came out with a five dollar note.

"We would appreciate it if you would look on your bill of lading and tell us if the late Don Topo had anything stored in the warehouse."

"I don't have to look on any bill of lading for that. He has thirty barrels of beans stored inside. We weren't quite sure what to do with them now that he has passed on."

I looked at Lucinda, winked at her and got a frown for my troubles.

"This is Lucinda Topo. She will be acting as the administrator for the Topo Estate. Perhaps we could take a look at the beans?"

"In the middle of the night?"

I held the five spot in front of him and in a flash it was gone from my hand and deposited in the man's pocket.

"I suppose it won't hurt. There isn't anything in the warehouse but lumber, some sacks of salt and those beans. If you need me, I'll be in the office. Sorry for your loss, Miss Topo. Your father was a fine man."

"Leave the lantern if you would?" Lucinda added, now smiling sweetly. The old man slowly shuffled over and handed me a small kerosene lantern.

I helped Lucinda down from the wagon and we climbed the stairs to the warehouse dock. The large sliding door wasn't padlocked. I slid it open. In the corner stood thirty barrels of beans arranged in a square. I took the note from my pocket.

"My note said four. Your note says three. Would that be four over and three back?" Lucinda asked. The interior of the warehouse seemed vast in the dark.

I picked up a stave that was leaning against the wall and counted three over and then went back down to the fourth row. Using the stave, I hit it against both the barrels that fit the puzzle and the barrel next to it. There was a definitive difference in the sound the stick made from one barrel to the next.

"That would be four over and three back," I said, smiling with relief.

Looking around to see if the watchman was still out of sight, I pried the lid off the barrel. Reaching down into the barrel through the hard, loose beans, I felt the solid heft of a burlap bag containing coins.

"Did you find it? Is there gold in there?" Lucinda asked excitedly. Her anger has dissipated. The tension drained out of her body as she hung on my arm. "Are we going to be able to keep our property?"

"We have found your father's gold. Tomorrow, bring someone to claim the barrels of beans. Stop by the house and leave three of the barrels in the pantry like you were keeping them for use at the house. Don't make a big thing of it. When no one is around you can open up the barrel and see what you have to work with."

"Why do you continue to think you can tell me what to do?"

I had put the cover back on the barrel of dried beans and was walking out of the warehouse.

"Where are you going?"

"Back to Oregon to take care of my livestock."

"Why tonight? Why must you always leave in the night? You say I don't make sense. You are the one who is crazy. No ships sail until the morning."

"One sails before dawn on the morning tide. I will sleep on the ship tonight so I don't chance missing it in the morning."

"Why go back to Oregon at all? Your life is in Monterey. Your life is with me. Why are you leaving again?" she said in a plaintively. I had never heard her sound like this.

"Beside of the fact that Genero was right and you are possessed by the devil?"

"Don't joke about this," she said. As I looked at her, I wondered how so many emotions could exist in me at one time.

"Why would I stay here? So you can insult me further by making fun of my ears? So you can cajole me into another one of your lunatic schemes? I believe I scared that lawyer into leaving the country, but I don't know that for sure. He could be pleading his case to the Sheriff as we speak. Every time I am around you, I barely escape with my life."

"Don't you want a share of what is in the barrel? You have earned it and as much as it hurts me to say so, my father would have wanted you to have a part of it."

I took three steps and was standing in front of her. I placed both my hands on the sides of her face.

"I would rather calve out heifers in the middle of a snowstorm than try to make a life with you. Every time I think I have gotten over you, you show up like a grease stain on a good shirt. I have never known how to handle you."

"You could accept me as I am."

"Or, you could behave like a conventional woman. Neither one is likely," I said.

"You are man enough to drag Procopio Bustamonte, the most dangerous brigand in the Alto Sierra, out of a whore's bed, then turn him over to a constable, yet you are not enough of a man to be with me."

"I wasn't in my right mind when I did that. That is often the case when I am in your presence."

"Bustamonte has said he will kill you on sight."

"Another reason to go back to Oregon. I doubt Bustamonte could find the energy to ride a horse all the way to Oregon just to shoot me. He may get around to it if I stay in California."

"You are not afraid of him or anyone else. That is just an excuse to leave me."

I was about to argue, then remembered who I was talking to.

"It's late," I said and started to walk away.

"Charlie, if you weren't so simple minded you could understand why we will always be in each other's' hearts. When your mother died, you were left alone with no one to care for you. I have come to represent your mother and the abandonment you suffered when she passed away. That is why you have followed me around like a whipped puppy when you know you could have other, safer women. No other woman will be able to fill the hole in your heart like I can. No other women will give you the satisfaction I can give you."

I took my hands from her face and shook my head in amazement.

"You need to start wearing a bonnet when you go in the sun. You have suffered sun stroke," I said.

Lucinda gripped my wrists with her hands. "You fill a void in me. My father was disappointed in me, as you are disappointed in me. Deep down I wanted both of you to accept me. Why do think we are so explosive together no matter how long we have been apart? I sleep with you and win your approval, then you become discouraged with me and I lose you. You want a woman who doesn't act like she loves you. In your heart you are trying to be good enough so that your mother won't abandon you. We are part of each other's secret pain. You need me."

Her eyes had lost the blackness and turned blue again.

"No, I don't."

"You are here now. Why not stay? It will be no less thrilling now than it was the first time in the ship's cabin."

"If I am not at my ranch, everything will fall apart. Ten years of hard work will melt away like ice in the Spring. I can hear the men that work for me; 'Hey Patron, there is snow on the flats. The cows, they look weak. Should we feed the rest of the pasture grass we put up in the barn? Hey Patron, the neighbor says your cattle got in his wheat and he wants money for the damages or he is going to start shooting your cows. What should we do?" If I want to keep what I have built up, then I need to go back and take care of things."

"Same old Charlie. You don't care about me," she declared and turned away in a pout.

"That must be it. Whatever my failings are, I am off to look after my holdings. At least on the ranch I understand what's going on. No one is making me watch while they mutilate a lawyer or have me sit in the corner by myself while they ride off for hours with a famous bandit."

"You are such a child," she replied. Her posture became rigid and she took a step back from me.

"We have to take care of the things we are responsible for. I wish you the best."

"No. Come spend the night with me, Charlie. That part of our lives has never failed to make me happy. Let me escape my fears and responsibilities for one night. What if we never see each other again?"

"There's not another ship sailing for Portland till next week. If I spend the night with you I will never get to the boat before it leaves in the morning. For all I know, Peperich went straight to the vigilante committee and they are looking high and low for me right now."

Lucinda stamped her foot. "You would have done the same thing to Peperich I did, if it would help you save your family."

"I don't have a family."

It looked for a moment like her eyes were wet with tears. "Since my father is dead, I am your family."

"I don't even know what to call you. My step-sister? My former-wife? My partner in murder? Flip a coin."

I needed to put the wagon horses away. It was a short walk from the wharf to the Topo House and if Lucinda wanted to continue arguing, she could find her own way home.

I climbed in the seat and clicked to the horses when she cried out to me.

"Stay with me, Charlie."

I turned and looked at her forlorn figure pleading with me from the warehouse dock.

"Here is an idea. Let us go to your house and pack your trunk. You can come with me to Oregon and help take care of the ranch. Your life would be about the way you described it to me a long time ago at the Chualar cabin. Up before dawn to cook for the vaqueros. No social life, no entertainment and no shopping trips, save going to Portland once a year. It would be a life of abundance. All the dirt, wind and cow shit a woman could want. Are you ready for the isolation, the harsh weather and the loneliness of a life with me on the ranch? Come with me to the wilderness if being with me is so important."

Lucinda seemed to shrink. She drew deeper into the shadows.

"I didn't think so," I said and started the team.

"Think about what I have said tonight, Charlie. You belong in Monterey."

"I will think about it, Lucinda. I always do."

"If I never see you again, Charlie, I regret nothing," I heard her say into the night. It wasn't exactly I love you, but it might be as close as she could come.

It wasn't until I unhitched the horses that I suddenly bent over, struck with such a desire to go back to her that I couldn't get my breath.

When I had recovered enough to stand up straight, I went back to my hotel room and packed my valise. After settling the hotel bill, I went to the pier and found a man with a small boat to row me to the ship that would be taking me back to Portland. I went down below and stowed my case under the bunk. Settling into the bunk, I tried to doze off. However, I kept running Lucinda's words over and over in my mind. As always, I was at a loss to understand the balance between her manipulations and the reality of her feelings for me. I listened to the creaking of the ship's timbers and the scurrying of the rats.

At five in the morning, I heard the night watch coming off shift and the morning watch making their way to place the ship under sail. As I came up on deck, the snap and pop of the canvas being put up was as loud as the screams of the gulls overhead. I walked back to the bow of the ship and looked back at the shores of Monterey. Just to the side of the warehouse stood alone figure in a dress. The woman had a scarf around her hair and a maroon cape covering a white dress. I squinted my eyes, wondering if the small figure was Lucinda. Almost against my will I raised my hand and waved.

The ship came about as the wind filled the canvas. We slid out toward the open ocean, creaking and swaying as it took me away from my birth place. I stood at the railing and waved my arm in a big arc. The woman on the shore stood still, her arms clutched together against the early morning breeze. Just when I decided it wasn't Lucinda, she shook her head and let her black hair spill loose from the scarf. She shed the cape and ran her hands up the side of her face until she had raised her hands high in the air.

A mist floated across the ocean and she was gone.

Scent of Tears

# Chapter Twenty-seven

Tiburcio was due to be hung. It shouldn't have surprised me to find Lucinda walking out of the jail as I was walking in. I had read in the paper that there were hundreds of people going to the jail to visit the famous outlaw before his execution. To avoid the crowd, I had arrived early in the morning. Lucinda must have had the same idea.

A shock always ran through my system whenever I saw her, and that morning was no different. My jealousy of Tiburcio was still bright though the judicial process was about to take care of any lingering concerns. It had been three years since I had helped Lucinda find her father's gold. The years looked to have taken their toll. Her face looked drawn and her skin dull. She had lost weight. Her eyes no longer seemed to have the spark that distinguished her from everyone else.

Lucinda seemed shocked to see me as well. She took a step back and regarded me. A smile came to her face.

"Charlie, it's so good to see you," she said and held her arms up to be hugged. After a moment's hesitation, I stepped forward and hugged her. She felt very thin and fragile, without the muscle tone I was used to feeling. Something else was different. The delicate veil of perfume she had always worn since our time in San Francisco was missing.

"You are here to see Tiburcio? What a silly question. Why else would you be at the jail this early in the morning? He will be glad to see you," she said. "Did you get my letter?"

There had been a letter from her, but I had not opened it. I was trying to let the wound that had been my love for her heal. Reading a letter from her would have been the equivalent of probing a scar with a knife.

"I have yet to read it," I said, expecting some sort of cutting remark, and was amazed when she hugged me instead.

"It is understandable. I am part of your past and that past wasn't always happy. It is no matter. I am glad to see you. It is good you have come to say goodbye to Tiburcio. He will appreciate it."

"What do you have?" she asked looking down at the book I was holding.

"A book of poetry. I thought it might lend some comfort to Tiburcio," I started to say before they hang him, but changed it. "During his incarceration."

She stepped back and looked at me. Much to my amazement there were tears in her eyes.

"I will be leaving for Lancaster in the morning. I don't care to stay here and watch Tiburcio die. If you want to join me for lunch after your visit here, I am at the Rose Hotel in the downtown area. If you don't, I will understand. However, I do have something for you I am sure you will like," she said and stepped forward to hug me again.

As she turned away and left me standing there, watching her go, it occurred to me that there had been no hint of her driving sexuality. Like the perfume, it seemed to have departed from her. Any other time in our history, if Lucinda told me she had something for me back at the hotel that I would enjoy, I would have known what she was talking about. This time, she looked and acted so differently, I was unsure.

After three years in the Oregon high desert I felt like I was being drawn back into a vortex of the people I had known in Monterey. It was strange because I had not heard any news about anyone other than the often told and no doubt exaggerated stories of Tiburcio's exploits as a bandit.

Filling out the form to visit at the jailer's desk, I put down "family friend". I surrendered my side arm and received a receipt.

Tiburcio was being held on the second story of the jail in a rather large cell. He was alone. A deputy stood watch at the bottom of the stairs. Another deputy was posted in the hall by the cell. The sheriff was taking no chances with a jailbreak. I was frisked as I walked into the hall leading to the cell. I handed my gift for Tiburcio to the guard to examine. He thumbed through it and then handed it to the bandit.

"Charlie, how kind of you to come," Tiburcio said and walked halfway across the cell before he stopped. "I wish I could offer you a glass of wine but they draw the line at having alcohol in the cell."

I smiled at his ever-confident demeanor and marveled at the flowers, baked goods and gifts people had brought him.

"I would shake hands but the officer doesn't like any contact between myself and my visitors. They fear someone will slip me a pistol."

He wore a white dress shirt and vest. His black boots were gleaming and his hair had been freshly barbered. He was also clean shaven and his beard recently trimmed. A portion of the Hispanic population considered him a hero rather than a criminal, and they voted in elections. The Sheriff must have wanted him to look well cared for in the newspaper photographs.

"You look well," was all I could come up with. I wasn't sure how to make conversation with a man who was going to hang.

"What brings you to San Jose?" he asked.

"I came to buy some guard dogs for my sheep. We lose a great deal of the them to wolves and coyotes. I've come to buy a guardian from a man here who raises Great Pyrenees. Last night, I read in the paper that you had been brought from Los Angeles to San Jose."

"Here I thought you were a spade bit and riata man. Now you tell me you own sheep," he said and laughed.

"Sadly enough, that is true. As I get older, it comes down to whatever makes money," I said.

There shouldn't have been any silence. I was looking at a man whose child I had helped raise, who had stolen my horses and who I had aided in escaping from the law. Enough history had passed between us for two hours of conversation. Still, I was at a loss for words.

"How are you doing?" I finally asked.

"I should have taken my Mexican holiday sooner. I am certain of that," Tiburcio said with a thin smile. "Otherwise, I am being well fed, the cell is clean and airy. I have gotten to see many friends I haven't seen in years who bring me baked goods and flowers and pressed shirts."

"What will happen to you?" I blurted out.

"They will hang me. I ran with the devil for many years and had many adventures and now it is time to pay up. To tell you the truth, Charlie, I was starting to feel worn out. Sleeping with my hand on a gun and my horse saddled was getting old. The places where I have been shot become painful in cold weather. I would rather be hung by a Yankee Jury than go back to sharing a cell in San Quentin with three men and an army of rats and cockroaches."

"I am sorry," I said, and truly, I was. Why, I didn't know. Tiburcio had earned his way to the hangman's noose. Still, we were childhood acquaintances from Old Monterey and our lives intertwined in so many different ways.

"The newspaper men are after me to give an interview. Do you need any of that interview money, Charlie? I won't need it where I am going."

"Many thanks but I'm fine. Have it put in an account for Patricio," I said, thinking of his and Lucinda's son. Tiburcio's eyes widened and now, for a moment, he fell silent.

"You didn't hear?" he said softly.

"Hear what?"

"Patricio went out to feed the horses and mules in a wagon lot and was kicked in the back by one of the animals. The blow exploded his liver. Patricio is dead."

This news caused me to stagger. Lucinda had written me a letter no doubt telling me of his death. I had not opened it. I groped for the cell door and clutched it to have something to hang onto. The constable raised his shotgun in my direction.

"When did it happen?"

"Three months ago," he said.

Not knowing the right thing to say in a moment of grief was a major downfall of mine.

"I must tell you something, awkward though it is. It is providence that you have come by to see me, because soon I won't be telling anyone anything. I made love to Lucinda the one night at the race track in Monterey. I have never been with her since. She has told me how jealous you are of me and I want you to know it isn't warranted. She has been my friend, and the mother of my son these many years but that is all there has been between us."

"Why?" I asked, not sure if I was asking why he was telling me this or why he hadn't availed himself of her charms.

"I sensed that further interaction with Lucinda would be bad luck. Women are not to be trusted. As you probably know, that is why I am here in this cell. An unfortunate situation developed with my niece. The girl's father, who shielded and protected me, suddenly informed the Sheriff where I was hiding. I always knew a woman was going to be my downfall. I have been shot more often by jealous husbands than by lawmen."

"Lucinda always loved you," I said, rather mystified.

"Women can be perverse. Lucinda loved me because she couldn't have me. I would only confess this to you, Charlie. I, the great Tiburcio Vasquez, was more than a little afraid of her. When she got in the family way, I never returned. After I was involved in the unfortunate death of the constable that terrible night in Monterey, I was branded an outlaw and could not go back. Lucinda Topo would never have been happy to ride the outlaw trail as I was forced to do. So, I never asked her. She felt I had dishonored her by not returning, regardless of the circumstances. At some time, in some awful way, she would have taken her revenge upon me for my disrespect. I am not comfortable making love to a woman at the same time I am taking inventory on the weapons in the room. You saw what she did to that lawyer in Monterey," Tiburcio said in a low voice, looking for a moment in the direction of the deputy. "I also know about her killing that old blowhard, Tomasino."

I could only stare at him, thinking he was right about Lucinda's temper. Then I thought of Patricio being kicked to death.

"Did Lucinda see her son before he died?"  
"She was at the Monterey house when they carried him in. Patricio said he hoped the doctor wasn't drunk that day and then his eyes closed. She was holding him as he died. I guess she was out of her head for a while afterward. Any mother would be. She wandered in the hills, without shoes and in a torn dress until one of the priests from the Mission found her and brought her to the church."

"I'm sorry for the loss of your son," I said.

"I heard he spent last summer with you in Oregon. I never got to know him. What sort of man do you think he would have become?"

"He was charming and hated to get up early. He resembled his grandfather, Don Topo in stature. I know he had some of your character as well."

"How so?" Tiburcio asked. He rubbed his chest for a moment and I wondered if he was trying to ease the pain of hearing about his son or sooth old bullet wounds.

"We were gathering some cattle at the base of a mountain. We were going down this narrow trail when I saw a bear cub run out from under a tree. About that time the cub's mother rose up and roared. My horse bolted and took me under a tree limb. It knocked me out of the saddle and when I fell, the back of my neck landed on a rock. I was laying there, unable to get up. The bear was standing about forty feet away growling and slobbering for her cub."

"What kind of bear?"

"I couldn't say if she was a black bear or a grizzly. I only know she was seventeen feet tall and had fangs the size of a railroad spike. At least it seemed that way from where I was lying on my back."

"What happened to Patricio?"

"His horse bolted down the trail. Patricio baled off and got his rifle out of the scabbard in the process. As I lay there thinking about being dinner for the bear, Patricio squatted down beside me and laid his hand on my shoulder. He asked if I was alright, and the bear started to advance. Patricio stood and commanded in the same voice I have heard you use when bending people to your will, "Go take care of your cub." He threw in a few Spanish endearments just for luck, and that was what the bear did. She changed directions and walked to her cub. They disappeared into the trees."

"When you said he was like me, I thought you were going to say he stole livestock from the ranchos," Tiburcio said with a sad smile.

"No, I meant he was calm in a bad situation, that, being in danger didn't rattle him. He was your son. He had your courage. I'm going to miss him."

"Why didn't he shoot the bear?"

"He said the bear was just worried about her cub. She didn't mean us any harm. It that way, Patricio was like his Grandfather Topo. He had a generous nature."

Tiburcio seemed lost for a minute, steeped in sadness. After a moment, the face he showed to the world returned.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Bring me my Navy Colts and a fast horse," Tiburcio said with a laugh. The guard again raised his shotgun.

"Relax, hombre. A condemned man is allowed to make a joke," he said.

"I hope you like the book. I had better be getting back," I said.

"Adios," I said and walked toward the stairs.

"Let me share one other thing," he said. I stopped and turned around.

"According to what I am told, Lucinda suffers from the black lung."

"Tuberculosis? She has contracted the consumption?"

"No one is sure, but as you observed, she doesn't look well. One of her aunts told me she won't go to the doctor. They won't let her around the children. Her relatives don't even like her to come into the family house, never mind that there wouldn't still be a family house if Lucinda hadn't intervened and figured out a way to pay the tax liens. She is sick, Charlie, though I doubt she will say anything to you about it."

Scent of Tears

# Chapter Twenty-eight

I walked directly over to the Rose Hotel from the jail. It was hot and the streets of San Jose and much of the town were covered with dust. Mounting the wooden steps of the hotel, I elbowed open the ornate glass door and went to the counter. There I was momentarily stymied on who to ask for. Most of the time we were together Lucinda used my last name, but it had been three years since we had spoken, so I didn't know.

"Could you get a message to Lucinda Topo that Charlie Horn is in the lobby?" I asked the man behind the counter. He peered at the register for a minute, looked up at me and then looked at the register some more.

"I have a Lucinda Topo Horn? Would that be who you are looking for?"

"Looking for or running from, all my life," I replied.

The clerk appraised me for a moment with curiosity and alarm. I could understand his concern. Not only was I talking crazy, but there was the way I was dressed. Lucinda had been expensively dressed when I saw her at the jail. I was wearing a worn canvas ducking coat and a sweat-stained gray hat. I had a shoulder holster with a small forty-four caliber hand gun that bulged under the coat. It had been a few months since I had shaved. Reluctantly the clerk handed me a note.

Dear Charlie,

If you were kind enough to come to the hotel please have patience. I need to rest for a few hours. If you could come back at six we can have dinner together. I hope you will come. If not, I hope and pray you stay safe.

Yours always,

Lucinda

I nodded at the clerk, ask directions to a bath house and left the hotel. After a shave and a bath, I bought a new blue silk shirt and black hat. By the time I returned for dinner the street lamps illuminated a quiet city street. The coastal mist in the air insured the dust was no longer a problem. I saw my reflection in the window of the hotel and stopped. Living on the range most of the year, I didn't often have occasion to see how I aged from one year to the next. It wasn't a pretty sight.

I felt a slim arm slip around my waist as Lucinda drew up beside me. We weren't the children we had been the last time I studied our reflection, after the wedding sixteen years earlier. Now Lucinda was gaunt, with lines etched in her face. I simply looked rough and mean, with wind burned skin and a scarred face. I glanced down at her hand in mine. Both our hands showed the aging process. Mine with the veins standing out from hard work, hers looking thin and frail.

"It all goes by so fast," she said and took my hand and placed it on her hair.

"Remember, Charlie, when I didn't want you to touch my hair. What a vain little girl I was. Now I want you to hold my hair in both your hands. Standing next to you I am looking forward to dinner. I don't remember the last time I had an appetite. With you, I feel at home, even in a strange city."

When we were seated I started to speak, then closed my mouth and shifted in my seat. My hands wandered out of my lap, up in front of my chest but there were still no words.

Lucinda took pity on me: "You don't know what to say about Patricio. I don't either, excepting it was terrible. There is nothing you or anyone could have done. It was a freak accident and no one's fault. No doubt the horse or mule that killed my son was kicking at another animal. Patricio was in the wrong place, at the wrong time."

"How are you?" I asked, feeling even more awkward in the face of her grief.

"I think I went mad for a little while after Patricio's death. I wasn't much of a mother to him when he was alive and then it was too late. A priest brought me to the mission and ministered to me. I thought I had nothing left to offer the world or any reason to live, but it got better."

"You are a convert to the church?" I asked.

"In a way. I accepted that raging against the world and the injustice a person suffers doesn't make anything better. I have quit screaming at God for having taken Patricio. I quit hating myself quite as much. I am no longer angry all the time which makes my life easier. I know I have a purpose now."

"So you are serving the church?"

"No, I am not going to become servant of the church. Patricio followed in Tiburcio's footsteps and impregnated a local girl."

"He wasn't old enough," I replied, sincerely surprised.

"According to the young girl who has his child, he was. Remember, in Alta California, we Spanish women have a tradition of breeding early and often. She was fifteen when she had the little boy and he has the same eyes as Tiburcio and Patricio. One look and you know he is my grandchild."

"How did her family take it?"

"Not well, I'm afraid. They have little money and wanted to turn her out in the street rather than bring in another mouth to feed. I have since come to an arrangement. That is what I meant by purpose. I didn't take very good care of my son but perhaps I can do better with my grandson."

The waiter took our order and left us alone. It was a slow night. Most of the tables remained empty.

Lucinda reached into the small purse she was carrying, pulling out a heavy envelope. She handed it to me, indicating she wanted me to read what was inside. I took out a deed for property with the stamp of Monterey County embossed on the paper.

"That is a deed to twelve hundred acres at the end of the canyon where you and Genero built the cabin. Remember, your mare stuck her head through the kitchen window and caused me to drop the frying pan?" she said with a smile and I saw a flash of the old Lucinda show through her grief.

"The Chualar Ranch? You are giving me the Chualar Ranch?"

"Not the whole ranch. The back two sections. The cabin and springs you developed are still there."

"Why?"

"Why not? During the last three years I have worked constantly to get the titles to my father's ranchos perfected and clear of any liens. I have dispersed the property among my sisters and their worthless husbands. One husband drinks anything that is wet, the other would place a wager on whether the sun was going to rise. Pilar's husband is alright, but Pilar hates me. My mother's mind wandered after my father's funeral and she was no help. She died last year. Everything is done. I have cashed in my part of the estate. When I was doing all of this work, it occurred to me that you have played a prominent part in keeping my family's holdings together. Why should my lazy brothers-in-law get my father's land and you get nothing?"

"I have large holdings in Oregon. I don't need gifts from you," I said.

"It isn't charity. It is payment of debt, for all the years you gave my father. That ranch is where you were happiest, where you had your mare and swung the long riata learning to be a vaquero. The land is yours to do with what you want, no matter what you decide," she said.

"What am I deciding? What do you want from me, Lucinda?"

"I need everything that you gave freely in the past. Your loyalty. Your love. I want you to watch over me and care for me."

"Why not smuggle a pistol to Tiburcio and let him escape to the desert? If he shaved his beard and cut his hair short he might be able to live unnoticed."

Lucinda sighed and looked at me with the sympathy one might extend to a child who wasn't quite right in the head.

"The person who was your strongest advocate was not my father, Charlie. It was Tiburcio. He knew I wanted him to take me along. I would have ridden the outlaw trail, but he said for my own sake and for the sake of Patricio, I should stay with you. He said you preferred the smell of sweat from honest work to the smell of a new suit bought with stolen money. He said you had the kind of courage he would never have, the courage to face hard tasks and do things that were needed to create a respectable life. He said when you looked at me, he could see the love in your eyes, and I was foolish to scorn such a gift."

As always, when dealing with her, I was at a loss.

"As a girl I loved Tiburcio. As a grown woman I love you."

"Sixteen years after our marriage, you decide you love me? No doubt you have a plan."

"You act like my plans are a bad thing," she said and laughed. I said nothing but could not help but smile.

"I want you to lease your ranching interests in Oregon and come with me to the Owens Valley. I want you to help raise Patricio's baby. I want you to be my husband. It will be as it should have been all along. Maybe we can even get married again. This time it would be something I want."

"We are already married."

"I was never much of a wife to you, Charlie. Now I want to be."

"Couldn't we raise your grandson in Oregon?" I thought I knew the answer, but the question had to be addressed.

"I think the dry weather might be better for me."

She sipped her glass of water, as if her throat was too dry to speak. After a moment and another sip of water she continued on.

"I have been told I have Tuberculosis. According to the doctors I will do better in the southern desert than I would on the coast. So, Charlie? Do you want to leave what you have built in Oregon for a barren desert filled with scorching heat, scorpions and large rattlesnakes? Give up all you have created for a sick woman, an illegitimate baby and a young Mestizo girl who is but a child herself?"

"Now that you have pointed out the positives, what are the drawbacks?" I replied and she laughed.

"What else are you selling besides discomfort in a hot climate?"

"I will be your wife in all ways. I will make you smile. I would take you back to my room this second but the mother of my grandchild is there. We might scare her. As it stands she is frightened to death of me and what is happening to her life now."

"The bedroom has never been an issue with us."

"No, it has not. Charlie, come with me and you will get the woman you hoped for when my father forced you to marry me."

"Who would that be?"

"A woman who will wash your clothes and cook your food and turn her face away from all other men. A woman who will do what you say."

"Why now?"

"I never thought I would need anyone. I find out that isn't true."

"Does what you are trying to do scare you?"

"Not if you are with me."

The waiter brought our food and Lucinda stayed silent until he left.

"Even before I got sick I used to daydream about how it would be to have someone I could trust, who would do what needed to be done, that I could count on. I eventually realized that person was you. It has always been you."

"I have spent so much time building up my holdings in Oregon. It hasn't been easy It would be hard to walk away from it. I am not a child anymore. I don't have the time to duplicate what I have created."

She stood up from her chair and moved onto my lap. The occupants of the other tables looked away and ignored this egregious breach of social etiquette. Lucinda put her arm around my neck and used her other hand to bring my face around to look into her eyes.

"Before Patricio died I would never have asked you for help. I would have never asked anyone. With Patricio's death, it has become very clear to me that we don't know how much time we have left in this life. If we can spend it with someone we love, helping someone who needs help, then we haven't wasted the time we are given. I may not know why you love me, Charlie. I only know you have always loved me and I have always depended on that. My life had to become very hard before I really appreciated you. Come with me to the desert. You can run cattle, or sheep, or raise horses. It takes a brave man to do what I am asking, and you have never been afraid."

"You have always told me I am afraid of everything."

"If you were ever afraid, it didn't stopped you from doing what you needed to do."

She stood up and straightened her skirt.

"I have nearly been killed several times trying to prove my courage to you," I said with an unexpected anger.

"I will never ask you to retrieve a kite from a tree, only to be with me and help me give my grandson a fair start in this often terrible world. The train to Southern California leaves at seven in the morning. I already bought you a ticket. If your heart will let you come with me, I will see you at the train station. If not, I understand and cherish you for all the things you have done, and all the things we have shared."

I looked up into her pale eyes.

"I have loved you since before I even knew what love was, but I can't quit what I have created to come with you because now, after all these years, you decide you actually want to be married. I wish I could," I said and reached up and touched her face. To my amazement, I saw tears form in her eyes.

Lucinda walked to the door. I paid for our dinner and walked out onto the porch of the hotel. Lucinda had moved off into the shadows. She turned toward me as I came closer, putting out her hands as if to hold me away. She moved into me and laced her hands around my waist and held me very softly.

"Come to the desert, you can raise mules."

"Why would I raise mules?

"The army will buy them at a good price and you are like a mule. You are very careful with yourself and quite stubborn."

"Nothing about the size of the ears?"

"That too," she said and I was glad to see a little of the spark returned.

"You make me smile when you aren't causing me to want to murder someone. You know, I can recall every single time we were together."

"Those times can be so numerous now, you will finally lose count."

She reached up and gently kissed me.

"If you change your mind, meet me at the train station in the morning."

With that, she turned away and walked down the dusty street. As usual, she didn't look back though I watched her until she was gone from sight. I shut my eyes. Her image remained before me. I went back inside the restaurant and sat at the table for a long time, thinking about the difficulties of letting go of what I had built in Oregon. I knew I would have to sell my horses with the ranch or drive them to Southern California. I had no one in mind to sell the ranch to, and the Spring gather was right around the corner. I knew I had no way to move to a location I was not familiar with without losing much of what I had worked so hard to build. My resolve asserted itself and I went to sleep knowing for sure I would not make a sacrifice for Lucinda again.

I was not at the train station at seven. I was there at six-thirty watching the tall, still proud figure of Lucinda Topo again descend on my life with her little family in tow. She held the baby. The young girl with her tried to manage the large suitcase. When Lucinda saw me she stopped, handed the baby to the young girl and ran to me. She opening her arms and wrapping them around my neck in a death grip. I could feel hot tears on her cheek as she held herself against me.

"I am only coming south because you already bought the ticket."

"I know, Charlie. Nothing is permanent."

I pulled back and looked into her smiling face.

"Would you really do what I tell you to?" I asked.

"Of course not. However I have been humbled, I am still a woman. I promise to care for you and protect you the way you have always loved and protected me."

I must have looked disappointed because after a second she went on.

"I won't point out that you are wrong in front of other people. Really, Charlie, that is all you can expect," she said and broke out into laughter.

###

# About the Author

Juan Knecht was born into a very old ranching family in Kern County California. His great grandfather was a foreman on the famous Tejon Ranch in the late 1800's. When his grandfather was born there were complications. A Tejon Cowboy named Juan rode fifty miles on a rainy night to get the doctor and save the mother and child. In acknowledgement of this feat, the name Juan has been given to male descendants ever since. The author has a lifelong love of horses, the cowboy lifestyle and an interest in the history of the Alto Sierra. It is his pleasure to share his knowledge of the era and the vaquero life style with his readers.

Juan lives in San Luis Obispo County with his wife, Michele. When he's not writing, he's still attends brandings as well as raising and showing cow horses.

Prints of cover art by Michele Knecht, along with her other paintings are available on www.ranchoriata.com for purchase.

Michele's colorful Pastel paintings are inspired by each animal's unique personality, and her love of nature.
Conchos and Lace Series by Juan Knecht

Scent of Tears

Wolves in the Shadows

Five Seconds Too Long

Lucinda and the Bandit

Quarter Moon

www.ranchoriata.com

