Heaven Is a Long Way Off (10 page)

“Not enough time,” said Grumble. “Quicker to the mission and the midwife, far quicker.”

“Who in the hell are you?” snapped Don Cesar.

“Father Lorenzo, who is trying to save your grandchild's life. And your daughter's.”

Grumble hopped into the carriage behind Sumner, and Hannibal lashed the horses into motion.

Don Cesar's policy was, When uncertain, shout. “Alfredo, get the doctor! Bring him to the mission! Now!”

The don himself snapped at Cigarillo to bring his horse. Mounted, he trotted to the carriage and fell in behind. “What in hell…?” he muttered. “What the devil…?”

 

A
BOUT A MILE
along the dirt road the Indian driving the carriage stopped.

“What are you doing, you idiot? My daughter's life is at stake!”

“No,” said the Indian, “yours is.” He cocked the pistol and held it straight at the don's chest. “Dismount!”

The don did.

Two American beaver hunters ran out of the cluster of scrubby trees.

“Grumble, get the reins.”

The priest did.

Grumble! The don recognized that name. He was beginning to understand…

Reina got down from the carriage with Esperanza in her arms. Julia stepped out next to her sister.

Don Cesar stared at Julia, uncomprehending.

Now the beaver hunters trained their rifles on the don's chest.

Don Cesar recognized them. Sam Morgan, the American clown with the Indian wife. Flat Dog, the Indian who usurped his daughter. And Sam's scraggly dog.

“Julia!” the don snapped.

The beaver hunters seized his arms.

She walked directly in front of him, glaring. She was perfectly well. His lips slipped into a snarl.

“Father,” she said, “I disinherit you.”

She cocked her open hand well back and slapped him.

The hands let him go, and he nearly fell.

Julia glared, challenging him.

Coy jumped forward and nipped at the don's leg. Rubio kicked at the animal. He looked rage at his daughters.

“Oh, Papa,” said Reina, “you deserve it.”

Flat Dog stepped up to Julia, embraced her, and kissed her, a huge kiss. Julia kissed him back with passion.

The don looked away.

Hannibal looked at Grumble, holding the reins, and nodded. Then he put his pistol in his belt, turned, plucked his rifle off the seat, and looked down its barrel at the don.

“Our friends will go on to…wherever they choose to go,” said Flat Dog. “I, Julia's husband, the father of your grandchild, I will escort you home.”

“And me,” said Hannibal, prodding the don with his cocked rifle.

Flat Dog gave Julia one more kiss. He said softly, “I have to do this.”

“I understand.”

“Soon.”

“Yes.”

 

S
AM
M
ORGAN LOOKED
into the carriage at Julia, Sumner, and Reina, who was holding his daughter. He reached for her and held her for the first time in half a year, almost her entire life. She yawned and closed her eyes. His mind went moony.

“She is a gentle baby,” said Reina, “always peaceful.”

Sam gawked at Esperanza.

 

D
ON
C
ESAR CURSED
Flat Dog and Hannibal all the way back to the rancho. He walked, led his horse, and cursed them.

Hannibal interrupted him. “You're impressive. Only a man of education has such magnificent imprecations.”

The huge rowels on the don's spurs made his steps crooked and awkward. In a quarter mile his ankles were torturing him, and his creative energy waned.

However, his tongue was relentless. He denounced his captors. He denounced Julia and his grandchild. And he cursed the priest and nun who helped to perpetrate this atrocity. “I will make them pay,” he said. “I am a loyal friend and supporter of that mission, and Father Antonio will stand by me. That priest and nun will pay.”

Flat Dog and Hannibal smiled at each other and kept their guns on their prisoner.

Soon Don Cesar and the two riders came on an elderly Mexican in a big sombrero who was pruning a grapevine. The mountain men put their rifles across their laps, looking idle. Sombrero looked questioningly at the don. “It is all right, Miguel,” the don said. “It is all right.”

When they neared the house, Cigarillo came out of the barn, his unlit cigarillo an inch shorter but still jutting up to the sky. “It's all right,” said the don. “I'm fine.”

At the door of the adobe Flat Dog said, “Who is inside?”

“Two women, a maid and a cook,” said the don.

“If there are only two,” said Flat Dog, “fine. If there is a third or a fourth, you die.” He glared at the don.

Don Cesar Rubio shrugged.

Flat Dog kicked the door open.

From the corral Cigarillo saw the American hunters pushing Don Cesar inside with their rifles. He decided that now would be a good time to relax somewhere else with a bottle of mescal.

The captors and the don stepped into the entry hall. “Call them,” ordered Flat Dog.

“Lupe. Juanita.”

Two women crept from separate rooms into the corridor.

“Is anyone else in the house?” said Hannibal.

The women shook their heads no. They looked terrified. “Lead me to the parlor. We will sit like guests. Have you ever been privileged to sit in that room?”

The women minced into the parlor, and Hannibal followed them.

“Down the hall,” said Flat Dog, his rifle in the don's back.

He marched Don Cesar down the long corridor and into a special room at the end, where he kept his prized collection of weapons. The walls here were adorned with instruments of destruction—a conquistador's sword and breastplate; a matchlock rifle; two fine dueling pistols; a cutlass from a pirate vessel; a jeweled dirk belonging to a Spanish grandee; several styles of whips and lashes, including a cat-o'-nine-tails.

The don had displayed these marvels proudly to Flat Dog and Sam last winter. “The cat,” he said, “is preferred by the British. And this is the choice of the Russians. The knout.”

He took it down to show them its nastiness. “Wire is interwoven with the rawhide, you see.” Then he tapped the handle into his hand with an air of satisfaction.

Now Flat Dog took down the knout. Its memories crawled up and down the flesh of his back.

The don's eyes bugged and swelled. He remembered perfectly. He saw the eruptions of Flat Dog's skin, the spewing blood. He heard once more the Indian's screams, and remembered how he relished them.

“Down on the floor,” said Flat Dog.

Don Cesar went.

“All the way. Flat on your belly.”

Don Cesar obeyed.

Flat Dog leaned his rifle in a corner. Then he tapped the handle of the knout in his hand.

T
HE RAINS CAME.

That first night Sam, Grumble, Sumner, Julia, Reina, and the infant Esperanza drove to the pueblo of Los Angeles. They considered finding a place to stay there, but it would have been a hovel. As soon as they started on toward Mission San Gabriel Arcangel, rain started sluicing down. The road along Arroyo Seco turned to mud, and the dry creek bed trickled. Before Sam got the carriage to the mission, the horses were sliding around in the muck. Sam and Coy, in the open, were soaked and chattering.

Father Sanchez got out of bed to make them welcome. He even brewed hot coffee and poured them brandy to go with it. Sam silently wished blessings on the good Father Jose.

They all got into their beds quickly.

Sam insisted on keeping Esperanza with him. The child had been cheerful as long as the light lasted, and after dark slept. Men went to one room, women another. Sam slept slouched in a chair, his arms around his daughter.

The next morning rain still sluiced down.

At midmorning Hannibal and Flat Dog came in. They'd slept a few hours and then ridden through the rain. They accepted bread, butter, and coffee. Hannibal took his food to bed. Flat Dog put an arm around Julia, and they headed for another bedroom.

“He's awful tired,” said Sam.

“She's eight months along,” said Grumble.

“I wager they'll have some fun,” said Sumner.

Rain and gray, rain and gray. They napped and rested all day.

At dinner Sam looked at the friars and asked his friends in English, “What are we going to do? Rubio will come for us.”

“Not for a few days he won't,” said Flat Dog. He told the story of the knout-lashing. It came out flat and hard. He showed them all the knout, and the dried blood still on the rawhide and the metal studs.

“Father José is a good man,” said Grumble.

“He married me and Julia.”

“He knows what we've done, all of it,” said Hannibal.

“But he can't protect us long,” said the cherub.

“My father will pursue us wherever we go,” said Julia. Reina nodded.

“Gentlemen,” said Sumner, “the harbor. A ship.”

They looked at each other. They nodded. “A ship,” two or three of them said.

Not even a California don could attack an American or British sailing vessel on the high seas.

T
HE NEXT MORNING
Sam and Hannibal had lunch in town. They'd left the mission while Flat Dog and Julia were still in bed, and before Grumble and Sumner got up.

A friend walked into the cantina.

“Ike Galbraith!”

Sam and Hannibal stood up at their table and shook hands with Galbraith.

“Sit and eat!” said Hannibal.

The big Mainer sat. Even seated, he was half a head taller than either of the two tall men. “Damn rain,” he said. On this second morning it was still pouring.

“This un heard white men was at the mission.” He did a second take on Hannibal. “Sorry, you know what I mean.”

Under the table Coy whined.

“It's all right, Ike.”

They poured Galbraith coffee and handed him tortillas.

“I hope everybody hasn't heard we're at the mission,” said Sam.

“Damn silly hope,” said Galbraith.

They told him how Flat Dog had gotten Julia back, and made Rubio pay.

“That shines,” said Galbraith.

“He'll be coming after us,” said Sam.

“After a few days,” said Hannibal.

“Slow going in this rain anyway,” said Galbraith.

“Hard even to ford the Los Angeles River,” said Sam.

The road crossed the river just above the pueblo without benefit of bridge.

“That dinky thing, she's a-roaring,” said the Mainer, chuckling. “What you beavers doing in town?”

“We sold some things,” said Hannibal.

“One of the dons up near Monterey wanted to get me and Flat Dog hanged, or better yet bushwhacked,” said Sam. “We sold most of his men's saddles, rifles, pistols, and knives.”

Galbraith's eyes flashed his understanding. “Sounds more profitable than plews.”

Sam and Hannibal smiled and nodded. Good to have something to smile about. Sam thought happily of the coins in his shooting pouch, a lot of them.

“We're alchemists,” said Hannibal. “We turned our lead balls into gold.”

“Think I'll come back to the mission with you,” said Galbraith.

“We could use another hand,” said Sam.

 

O
N THE MORNING
of the third day the rain fell in sheets.

They were putting their heads together, everyone at one big table. Father José had given them good news. “My American friends,” he said in Spanish. “Good tidings. An American ship leaves San Pedro for San Diego on the tide tomorrow evening.”

Sam fed Coy under the table. He'd discovered that the coyote would snap up a crust of bread if it was smeared thickly with butter.

“Right about now a ship would be a fine way to travel,” said Grumble. He and Sumner had decided that Los Angeles wasn't safe for them either, not for a while.

“Safe to get there?” asked Sam. The harbor at San Pedro was a long, hard day's drive south.

“Two and a half days since Flat Dog whipped Rubio,” said Hannibal.

“He's damn well not doing any riding yet,” said Flat Dog.

Sumner said, “I want to take no chances.”

“Let's do it,” said Grumble.

Sam and Hannibal, Flat Dog and Julia—everyone looked at each other. They were agreed.

Julia squeezed Reina's hand.

“I'll be all right,” she said. “Father rages, but he will never hurt me, and Alfredo would not let him.”

A voice came from the outside. “Where are the Americans?”

Sam jumped up. He thought maybe he recognized that voice.

The heavy wooden door opened and Robert Dingley limped in.

Sam and Flat Dog said at once, “Robber!”

He looked like hell, face scratched and bruised, silver beard and hair matted and dirty, and one leg gimpy somehow.

Coy squealed.

“What happened to you?” said Sam.

“What's gonna happen to you, only worse. Rubio's men beat me up.”

Introductions and explanations were urgently made. Robber was an American seaman who had abandoned ship to live the carefree life in California.

“What are you doing here?” said Sam.

“Looking for you. Getting away from Rubio's men. Either or both.”

The story was that he had been enjoying life in his shack up Topanga Creek in his usual way yesterday morning. Rubio's men showed up suddenly, demanding to know where Sam and Flat Dog went. “I couldn't tell them nothing. Been nearly a year since I saw you.”

Robber's eyes asked where Meadowlark was. Sam wasn't ready to talk about that.

“So they beat me up.”

“Don't you love them Rubios?” said Flat Dog.

“I'm through with this place,” Robber said. “It was only a matter of time before Rubio run me off anyway.”

“Come with us,” said Sam. “We'll go to San Pedro, get a ship, get the hell out of here.”

“Sure,” said Robber, “and you better get going. Those men were heading back to the ranch to pick Rubio up and charge straight here.”

“Rubio can't ride,” said Flat Dog.

“They thought he could. And maybe they'll come without him. Either way, they're coming.”

“Anyone in the pueblo will tell them where we are,” said Galbraith.

The table broke into babble about how to slip down to San Pedro without getting caught. Everybody had an different idea—they agreed only that it would be dangerous.

“Listen,” said Robber, but no one heard him in the talk.

“Listen,” he said loudly.

They fell silent.

“I know where Rubio will never look for us.”

They waited.

“In a boat. On the Los Angeles River. Which ain't never a river except now.”

“Yes!” said some.

“But if he sees us,” others said, “we'll be sitting ducks.”

“It's a good idea,” said Grumble. “Devious.”

In a whirlwind of talk they came up with a plan.

They would borrow a rowboat from the mission. Robber would row Sumner, Julia, Esperanza, and Grumble down Arroyo Seco to where it flowed into the Los Angeles River just above the pueblo, and on downriver to the sea. Sam, Hannibal, and Flat Dog would ride along the bank above the river, on the lookout for Rubio and his men.

“I'll come along too,” said Galbraith.

Sam liked that. Galbraith was the best shot he knew.

“When do we leave?” said Flat Dog.

“Now,” said Sam.

Everyone stood up to get ready.

“Sister,” said Julia in Spanish, “will you come as far as the sailing ship with me?”

“Are you all right?” said Reina. Julia's face was drawn, strained.

“Flat Dog?”

Her husband went to her, took her hand.

“I think the baby, it begins now to come.”

 

R
IDERS IN THE
rain. Sam's eyes searched for dark figures in a gray world. Rain drummed on his hat and dripped off like a curtain. Rain slashed across the hills, the gullies, the landscape. He had trouble seeing, and that was dangerous.

He looked southwest along the dirt track, where the riders would probably come from. He looked west toward the hills, where they might show up. He looked every direction but down toward the water. He, Flat Dog, Hannibal, and Galbraith had agreed to keep their eyes off the stream, for that would give away the secret. There the frail boat tossed on the swollen creek called Arroyo Seco, a boat bearing friends, bearing women, bearing his daughter, bearing a baby striving to enter the world.

When he and Paladin forded the creek above, the surge felt rough. It looked rough and sounded rough. What a joke—Sam hadn't even seen water in that gully before.

Coy skittered along in front of him. Fortunately, the coyote paid no attention to the boat.

Sam hoped Robber was good with those oars.

He checked to make sure his powder was dry. He chuckled cynically to himself.
If Rubio's men show up, with or without the don, there'll be no talking things over.

He looked at Flat Dog. His friend's horse slipped around on the wet track, just like Sam's, Hannibal's, and Galbraith's, and the packhorse that bore their gear. Flat Dog's eyes probed at the rain, and shadows in the rain. But Sam suspected the landscape he surveyed was inside. His wife was in labor down below, in the boat. His child was being born, maybe, in the rocking, plunging craft. Being born into a world of gray rain and black murderers.

That was enough to turn any man's insides into a desert.

 

J
ULIA CURSED.
S
HE
cursed in Spanish, for her pains seemed to have squeezed away her English. The pains came every several minutes. When they did, she blanched, her body went rigid, and her curses outroared the flooding waters.

Mainly, and most eloquently, she cursed Flat Dog, the cause of these terrible pains, the one true culprit. She cursed the current, normally a trickle, now trundling along like a horse with a rough gait. She cursed the bumps and lurches. She cursed the rain, which soaked her. She cursed her need to squat. With the boat bouncing, she felt like she would bounce off to the left, or bounce to the right, and plunk into the river. But when she lay down, or took a seat on one of the hard benches, the pains were worse.

Every few minutes the boat bottomed out on a place too shallow to float. Everyone but Julia got out into ankle-deep water, dragged the boat through, and jumped back in before the jumpy thing got away. She damned them all, the grinding stop, the rough passage, and the jouncing as her fellow passengers jumped back in. She damned the lot of them, loudly and creatively.

Grumble, who had spent his life in low dives among vile-tongued men, was impressed at her eloquence. Sumner was much amused.

Except for Julia's magnificent performance, Grumble would have been grumbling. He had chosen a life of art, the art of the con. He was not a fellow for physical heroics, nor flight in wretched weather from enemies bearing the lust to kill.

Manning the oars, Robber hollered at Grumble, Sumner, and Reina from time to time to bail water out of the bottom of the boat. He had given them each buckets for the purpose. Julia cursed the water, which sloshed around and soaked her back and her bottom and the place where the baby was worming its way into the world. She cursed the baby, she cursed the bailing, she cursed the splashes, and she cursed the stupid rain.

Reina and Sumner took turns holding Julia in her squatting position and holding Esperanza. This child was showing her usual good spirit, looking around at everything with an expression of wonder. She never uttered a complaint.

Julia made up for Esperanza's reticence. She amplified her cursing now. She damned all male animals—they had those stupid appendages they just had to, had to, had to indulge—
Those damn things are the authors of pain in the world.