Jory Sherman: Blood Sky at Morning

Moments later the dark sky of night paled, then turned bloodred as the rising sun glazed the clouds gathered on the eastern horizon. Light flooded the land with a breathtaking suddenness. Zak stared at the sanguine sunrise for a long moment, caught up in its majesty. He twisted his head and craned his neck to take it all in. A vagrant thought crossed his mind that it was like being a witness to creation itself, watching that first dawn billions of years in the past. Then he turned back to face the west and his gaze scanned the ground, picking up those hoofprints that ranged in the center of the road, bisecting the twin wagon ruts, dusted over by wind and glistening with a faint, ephemeral dew.

The first thing he noticed were the hoofprints. He’d filed them away in his mind a few days ago and had expected to see them, but was surprised at their appearance. They were fresher than they should have been. The edges should have crumbled and been more blurred. No, these were only a couple of hours old, at first glance. He reined in his horse and stepped down out of the saddle to examine them more closely.

Chama halted his horse and leaned out to see what Zak was doing. Carmen also watched, as a little shiver coursed up her spine, a gift of the chill that rose up from the earth.

“Something the matter?” Chama said.

“These tracks. Belong to a horse I watched ride off from one of the line shacks. A horse ridden by a man named Grubb.”

“Slow horse?”

“Maybe. It was kicking up dirt when Grubb rode off.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning he should have been in Tucson a day or so ago.”

Zak stood up. He looked at the dawn sky, the clouds beginning to redden as if splashed by barn paint.

“Light down, you two,” he said. He had seen Carmen shiver. “We all need to stretch our legs.”

“I am cold,” Carmen said.

“You will warm up once you get out of the saddle,” Zak said. He looked down at the hoofprints again, measuring them against the age of the wagon tracks. They each told a story, and he could gauge the passage of time. Thoughts flooded his mind. Why had Grubb delayed his journey to Tucson? Had he been following them, watching them from a distance? Why?

Whatever the answers were, Zak felt sure that Grubb would tell Ferguson and Trask that he was coming. He might even know that he had Carmen and Chama with him now. It was likely.

Chama walked around, leading his horse, flexing his legs. Carmen stood there, stamping first one foot, then the other, restoring circulation to her feet. She shook with the chill and flapped her arms against her body like some rain-drenched bird. The coolness rose from the ground as the sky raged in the east, a crimson tapestry so bright it seemed as if that part of the world was drenched in a fiery blood.

Zak stood up and faced the west, peering down the old road. Ahead he could see the place where it converged with the regular stage road between Tucson and Fort Bowie. He walked toward the intersection, leaving Nox standing there, reins trailing.

“I’ll be back, boy,” he said softly, and he caught a sharp look from Chama, who quickly looked away. Zak thought it was an odd look, and he wondered why Chama tried to conceal it. But he shook off the thought as he walked toward the convergence of the two roads.

All of the tracks led there, and he noticed that Grubb’s horse had struck a different gait a few yards down the stage road. Clearly, Grubb had put the horse into a gallop, suddenly in an all-fired hurry, Zak thought.

He glanced briefly back to where Chama and Carmen were waiting. He heard Chama’s voice as he spoke to her. She replied and Zak realized that they were speaking in Spanish. He caught only a word or two, but they made his skin prickle slightly. He heard amigo, followed quickly by its opposite, enemigo , then he heard Chama say, “ el gringo Cody,” which surprised him. They were talking about him, he realized, and the knowledge was disturbing. Why were they talking about him? And behind his back? He decided to wait before returning to his horse. The two had their backs turned to him, then he saw Chama step close to Carmen. He glanced over his shoulder back at Cody, then passed something to Carmen, something Zak could not see. He saw Carmen’s arms move as she tucked whatever it was into the sash she wore around her waist. At least that was the way he saw it. Then Chama and Carmen turned and he could see their faces in profile. Carmen glanced his way, then averted her eyes quickly as she said something to Chama.

Her voice carried and Zak clearly heard a single question word float from her lips.

“Cuando?” she said.

And Zak translated instantly. When?

He did not hear Chama’s reply, which was only a whisper, but he tried to fathom what Chama said by studying his lips. As near as he could figure, Chama had said, “ Espera .”

“Wait.”

Wait for what? Zak wondered. What had Chama given Carmen, who was their prisoner?

Zak knew they were not far from Tucson. Another two hours ride, maybe less. But he was on his guard now. Something was going on between Chama and Carmen. And it was very puzzling at that early hour. He started walking back to his horse, and the two of them separated. Carmen walked around, stretching out first one leg, then the other. Chama ran a finger under his cinch, grabbed his saddle horn and rocked it to see if it was still on tight.

“What do you see down there?” Chama asked.

“Just where the two roads join up into a single road. Where the stage runs to the fort.”

“Yes,” Chama said.

“You and Carmen had words?”

“I spoke to her. She misses her husband. She is afraid.”

“She will see him soon enough. Tucson’s not far now.”

“What will you do when you get there?”

Carmen turned and drifted closer to the two men. The sky was bloodred, sprawling over the entire eastern horizon like a burgundy banner, the red deepening to a crimson stain.

“See Ferguson. Call him to account. See if Lieutenant O’Hara is a prisoner there.”

“You might be walking into something bad. Something dangerous.”

“If so, I’ve walked that way before, Chama.”

“Yes. I am certain that you have.”

“You don’t have to be with me.”

“I, too, wish to find the lieutenant.”

Zak knew Chama was lying. He spoke, but his words were empty, without conviction. Odd, he thought. Why would Chama lie about such a thing? And why now?”

“You don’t know O’Hara, do you, Jimmy?”

“No, I don’t know him.”

“Why should you care what happens to him?”

Chama shrugged, as if to get Zak off the subject of Ted O’Hara.

“I guess I don’t know you, either, Chama,” Zak said. He would push Chama a little, see what he had in his craw.

“How can one man really know another?”

“Sometimes a man has to make quick judgments,” Zak said.

“And how do you judge me, Zak?”

“I don’t even have to think about that one. You come out of nowhere, with a story about being a half-breed, and I can either accept that at face value or carry a big suspicion around with me.”

“And do you carry a big suspicion with you?”

Carmen walked over to the two men, stood some distance away from them. Zak noticed a slight bulge under the sash she wore around her waist. He couldn’t tell from its outline what it was, but it looked a lot like a small pistol, a Derringer maybe, or a Lady Colt, or one of those small pistols Smith & Wesson made for women.

“I didn’t,” Zak said, “until you started lying about O’Hara.”

“Lying?”

“It looks that way to me. I don’t think you give a damn about O’Hara, and I think if you did run into him, you’d probably shoot him dead on the spot.”