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The undulating foothills at the base of the mountain rose, fell, and then climbed higher on the next ridge and the next. After a half hour, the mine’s abandoned buildings came into view.
“The ruins look so stark out in the middle of…nothing.” I stood in my saddle, taking in the three-hundred-sixty-degree lunarscape. “How did they mine and refine the cinnabar in such a remote area?”
“Through sweat equity and sheer determination.” Luke’s lips set in a thin line as he peered into the distance.
What’s he thinking?
“This was one of the mineshafts.” Joel pointed to an entrance blocked with heavy-duty wire mesh. “If you think life was tough topside, imagine the miners tunneling below.”
Luke reined his horse closer to the opening and peered in. “The heat must’ve been unbearable.”
“Like burrowing to hell.” I shook my head.
“That’s cinnabar.” Joel pointed out the brick-red rocks strewn about. “The story goes that this area was so rich in deposits that the heat from a campfire would form drops of quicksilver.”
“Isn’t it poisonous?”
“Mercury sulfide’s the most toxic mineral on earth.” Joel nodded. “Miners inhaling its dust or furnace workers breathing its vapors led short lives.”
Peering into the dark hole, I took a deep breath, glad to be topside.
Joel clicked his teeth as he reined his horse around. “Let’s find some better scenery.” Riding past several roofless shanties of stacked limestone and adobe, he led us down a steep ravine. Then he guided us across a narrow trickle of water flowing through a wide riverbed. “This is Rough Run Creek. Looks peaceful now, but you wouldn’t want to be here in a flash flood.”
The horses climbed a vertical incline to one of the highest peaks, and as the path widened onto a broad butte, he pointed northeast. “Those are the Christmas Mountains, the highlight of the tour before we start back.”
The majestic range extended to the horizon, with only sparse vegetation dotting the miles of stony terrain.
“Xeriscaping on a grand scale.” Using my chin, I pointed toward the nearest vegetation. “What kinds of shrubs are those?”
“A mix of mesquite, ocotillo, lechuguilla, cholla, and prickly-pear cactus.” Luke spread his arm across the expanse. “To survive here, everything needs thorns, spines, or quills.”
“A protective shell.” I nodded, relating. “Yet in their own way, each is beautiful. Maybe that’s why I love the desert.”
“A prickly kind of love, like between a porcupine and a cactus.” Luke turned toward me with a languid smile, his smoldering brown eyes sweeping over me like a desert breeze.
I held his gaze a beat too long, then to cover, checked the time. “Four-thirty? Are you getting hungry? Because I sure am.”
“No wonder. Breakfast is nothing but a dim memory.”
“Terlingua has a restaurant that opens at five.” Joel glanced from one to the other.
“I have no pressing engagements.” Or timetables, or orders. Enjoying the day as it unfolded, I shrugged.
“Works for me. Otherwise, it’s another two hours to Fort Lincoln.” Luke caught my gaze. “You game?”
****
“The wait for a table’s thirty-minutes.” The hostess took Luke’s name, then pointed to the old-time saloon. “But the bar’s open, or you’re welcome to sit on the front porch and watch the sunset.”
“Thanks.” He turned to Maeve. “How ’bout something to drink?”
“After Joel gushed about microbrews and ‘a feedstore in a bottle,’ I could go for a beer.”
“A cold draft it is.” Luke held the door while a steady stream of people entered and exited. “Why don’t you grab us seats on the porch. This may take a while.”
He joined her several minutes later, handing her a bottle just as the sun set behind them, casting long shadows. “To tranquil sunsets and new dawns.”
“I’ll drink to that.” She clinked her bottle against his.
