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When they finished and leaned back, sipping fresh beers, Randall told them about the things his grandfather said.
When he mentioned his grandfather giving him Victorio’s saddle, Hunter said, “You brought it back?”
“Yeah, in the house. He told me to go ahead and take it with me. Right now, I have it in the closet in the spare bedroom.”
“Can I look at it later?” She was excited.
“Sure. John, you want to see it?”
“I do.”
Randall stood, “Come on then, palefaces.” He brought the saddle into the living room and put it on the small coffee table in front of the couch. “Victorio marked it,” he lifted the flap of leather and showed them the red marks.
Hunter said, “There’s a place about an hour and a half from Marfa, out near Sierra Blanca where Victorio fought some soldiers in a big battle. I’ve walked the place and tried to imagine what it was like back then.”
John said, “That’s where the soldiers fortified their place on Devil’s Ridge.”
“How’d you know?”
“I used to sit with Randall when Grandfather and other elders talked about it. They didn’t do it often, but when they did, I listened. Theirs was a whole different perspective from what the soldiers wrote down.”
Hunter sat on the couch, looking at the saddle as if she wished it could talk. “I always wondered about that. It was declared a soldier’s victory in everything I read.”
Randall said, “Not exactly what the Apaches said, since their version was only spoken, not written down. But if you read the sign of the battle, you can tell that what Grandfather was told matched what the warriors said about it.”
Hunter leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “Don’t stop now.”
“The archeological evidence showed that Colonel Grierson and his soldiers were about four hours from being wiped out, and they never knew it. The Apaches were harassing the soldiers from several places to their front and drawing their attention, while Vicrorio sent small groups in flanking movements to shoot from higher ground. The bullet casings found–this was in an archeological search back in the eighties–showed one warrior was already in a perfect high point on the Calvary’s west to shoot into them while the soldiers hid behind stone breastworks.
Another Apache, on the east side, was within fifty yards of being on a second high point that would have had every soldier fully exposed to rifle fire, and with no place to go. There were only one or two rifle casings found at those locations, which matched what the elders said, that a lot more Calvary arrived before the two warriors could shoot more than once or twice.”
John said, “The reinforcements arrived from Fort Hancock. Victorio left the battle to fight another time. People forget he had to protect all the women and children with him, too. Anyhow, they retreated into Mexico, and Colonel Grierson proclaimed a victory.”
Hunter looked at the saddle, “And Victorio rode on this saddle during that time?”
“Pretty sure.” Randall said.
“Thanks for letting me see it.”
“I thought you’d like it, being an ol’ country girl.” He grinned.
“Au contraire, amigo. I’m mucho cosmopolitan. I listen to Renèe Fleming and Bruno Mars, not just George Strait and Johnny Cash. I own a genuine imitation Prada handbag, too. So there.” She winked at him and touched a stirrup, “But I do think this saddle is so…frickin’…awesome.”
They called it an early night. When Hunter returned to her hotel room, it was 9:00. She felt relaxed and happy. It had been a long time since she felt this at ease. They’d done good work today, bringing in Villard. She was proud of that, and, she thought, I owe Marc Dessaline a thank you. I sure never thought that would happen
. Tomorrow, then, she thought. Andre and I will go by and do a little hand shaking. She undressed, showered, and climbed into bed. She fell asleep in minutes.
Outside, under the shadows of the palms, Ringo Bazin watched the lights go off in Hunter’s room. He stood there for an hour, then left.
When Ariel Baimby saw his Mercedes leave, she started her ten-year old Camry and followed, her eyes luminous. She liked this Hunter Kincaid, and the pull to her was so strong. Tonight, she had planned to talk to her, but saw Bazin standing in the shadows like some dark monolith. She eased back to her car and watched from there. Ariel worried that Bazin would attack Hunter when she arrived, but he only watched her go to her room. He stood there for an hour, not even shifting his feet. Then, as if on some invisible signal, Bazin left.
Something was going on with Kincaid that Ariel could not discern. She followed Ringo to see if maybe he would provide a clue.
~*~
Ringo drove to a small, nondescript warehouse in the Little River area. Ariel parked a half-block away, and then walked forward in the dark. Few streetlights were there, so it was easy to move from shadow to shadow.
She watched Ringo push open an old, rickety door and go inside. Muted light showed when the door was open, then went black when it closed. The closer Ariel got, the more primitive and frenzied the drumbeats inside sounded. She paused at the door, put her hand on the knob and felt it vibrating with the rapid, pounding drumbeats inside. She gathered her courage, opened it and walked into humid heat and an almost overpowering smell of human sweat, spilled rum, and pungent marijuana smoke. But it was what she saw that caused the breath to catch in her throat.
