Retreat Robledo Mountain 3 Chapter 20
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Retreat (Robledo Mountain #3)Chapter 1 free porn video
My head was pounding!
Somehow, around the pain, I thought, ‘After seventy some years, you’d think I’d remember never to mix distilled and fermented alcohol!’
I may have looked twenty years old, but I was well over seventy. Getting sent back over 160 year’s in time was bad enough. Throw in losing everyone and everything I knew, and it was even tougher. Losing fifty years off my apparent age paled in comparison, but it was rough, too. Well, losing the years, both in time and age, had its good points; but still, until I’d adjusted to the reality of it, I thought I was either going, or already was, bat-shit crazy.
Of course, hearing the voice of my dead wife whispering in my left ear at odd times just reinforced the thought that I was experiencing a psychotic break.
Eventually though, with the help of friends I made over the next few years, I’d come to adjust to my situation. My new reality. I think it was Anna, my lovely Anna, that finally grounded me to the point where I could accept my new reality.
We’d been married almost a year. When I had the time to think about it, I still found it hard to believe that I’d found Anna. Okay, so Las Cruces isn’t exactly Casablanca but with just a little modification, the line about, ‘all the gin joints in all the world’, would apply to me meeting Anna. I’d probably never have noticed or entered that restaurant, if it hadn’t been for meeting her grandfather a couple of times over the previous few months.
Thinking of Anna, I opened my eyes, only to immediately shut them again as the pain in my head flared. The glare of light from the sun, streaming through the French doors as it peeked over the Doña Ana Mountains, was tough to take with a hangover. When I thought I had a handle on the pain, I squinted my eyes open as I turned my head.
Anna’s head was on my shoulder, her twinkling eyes were wide open and looking at me with a smile on her face.
“Good morning, mi Pablo,” she said softy. “You don’t look well.”
“I don’t feel well,” I grumbled in reply. “I don’t think we’ll be leaving for Las Cruces this morning my love. I’m sorry, but if this headache didn’t kill me the ride would.”
Anna gave a small giggle. “That’s okay Pablo. From what I saw of George and the others last night, I don’t think any of you will be able to make the ride, today.”
Anna was right. All the men in the Hacienda were too hung over to do much of anything. Aspirin and copious amounts of liquid to rehydrate were great at helping us recover from hangovers, but they’re not an antidote.
My cousin, George Pickett and I, managed to recover from the celebration enough to ride to Las Cruces the next day. We arrived in the early afternoon, with Anna and I each leading three mules. George left us almost immediately. He had six more miles to go to get to Fort Fillmore, and report back in from his leave.
At supper Anna’s great grandfather, Mr. Garcia, asked if the invitation for him to spend time at the Hacienda was still open. Anna was quick to assure him it was a standing invitation, and he would be welcome any time he showed up, for as long as he cared to stay. Yolanda and Tom were there as were all the cousins, so he would be more than welcome, even if we weren’t there.
Mr. Garcia thanked us, and the conversation turned to other subjects. After supper, Anna handed me my guitar and asked me to sing, as she wouldn’t get to hear it for a while. I thought for a minute and played “Till the Rivers All Run Dry” followed by “Tumbling Tumbleweeds”. The rest of the evening I played whatever the family requested, finally closing with “Anna’s Song”.
As were going over to the house, Mr. Garcia told Yolanda’s father that he would take him up on the offer of a ride to the Hacienda in the morning. Anna beamed me a smile on hearing that, whispering to me that it would do him a lot of good to be around all the kids. We spent the night with the Mendoza clan enjoying soft beds and clean sheets knowing we wouldn’t have those luxuries for a few months.
The next morning, we said our goodbyes and rode out to Mesilla, for a quick stop to check in with my Deputy Marshals, Esteban and Ed, as well as say goodbye to George.
The visit with Esteban and Ed was disturbing to say the least. Apparently, the comancheros we’d killed on our raid a few months earlier were part of a larger group, and had been awaiting the return of their leader and the rest. The leader had taken a large number of captives and goods east to the Comancheria, to sell to the Comanche.
The gossip being spread around the cantinas and bars was that the leader had been livid on his return to the camp, finding all his men dead, and with the rest of the captives as well as the loot gone. While no one knew his name, he was described as a big man with a flat nose, which had been smashed and broken sometime in the past.
Everyone who’d seen him agreed that he most closely resembled an angry bear, both in build and disposition. He had publicly vowed vengeance on Esteban, Ed, and me during his last saloon appearance a few days ago, before disappearing into the desert.
So far there hadn’t been any reports of raids on ranches or farms in the area, but they were keeping their ears open. I told Esteban to write up a report and send it to the Judge, asking for any information he may have.
Anna and I debated putting off the trip until we’d tracked down the group of comancheros, but eventually decided to continue as planned. I wrote Tom a brief note explaining the situation, telling him to put the cousins on alert to this new threat. I gave Ed the note and asked him to take it to Juan for delivery to the Hacienda with the next delivery of building supplies. I also asked Ed to stop by the Mendozas, and let them know about the threat as well.
We said our goodbyes to George outside Fort Fillmore and reminded him that even though we’d be gone for a few months, the invitation to visit the Hacienda remained open.
Anna and I led our mules west from Fort Fillmore, finally beginning our long-anticipated trip. I was worried about the comancheros and Anna picked up on my worry. We were hypervigilant on the first portion of the trip not only while we were riding but at night as well, getting up numerous times each night to check the surrounding area.
We rode into Hurley, our first planned stop, exhausted and ready for a break. We spent a somewhat more relaxed two days in Hurley, ‘showing the badge’ after introducing ourselves to the Sheriff and Mayor.
The hotel was barely habitable, and only contributed to my sense of unease. I was continuously on edge, and for the first time since we’d been married I found myself snapping at Anna. When I realized what I was doing, I gave her a big hug and apologized to her.
For some reason I couldn’t get my mind off the leader of the comancheros, and his vow to get even with me. There was no telling what he would do, and it gnawed at me relentlessly. Anna did her best to comfort me, but I was worried. I was worried like I hadn’t been worried since coming to this timeline. I had a bad feeling, a premonition, that both Anna and I were going to regret not delaying the trip.
The third morning after arriving in Hurley, we packed up and rode the short distance to Fort McLane. We introduced ourselves to the Fort Commander using the letter of introduction Colonel Miles had written for us. He was indifferent to my status as US Marshal, but was extremely interested in me as the owner of the Estancia Dos Santos, and our ability to regularly supply him with beef at an acceptable price.
Anna eventually negotiated a price of seven dollars and seventy-five cents a head for a contract that in every other respect was the same as those we’d signed with Fort Fillmore, and Fort Thorn. The Indian Agent for this area was on a trip to El Paso, though, and wouldn’t be back for some time
I let Tom know the terms of the contract in a letter I sent from the fort, as well as instructions to have Hector contact the Indian Agent when he made his first delivery, to see about selling him some beef.
Visitor accommodations at the fort looked to be even worse than the hotel in Hurley, so we decided to leave on the next leg of our trip, instead of spending the night at the fort.
We stuck to our tried and true method of paralleling the road, staying a half mile off the road to attract less attention. The further west we rode, the more relaxed I became, until it was almost as much fun as the honeymoon trip up to Santa Fe.
There was still a small part of me that worried about the situation back home, but the distance and our lack of ability to influence the outcome lessened my worry with each mile west we rode.
We knew that Apache, Yaqui, and Navajo raiding parties frequently crossed this area at all times of the year, looking for targets of opportunity, so we rode carefully and were ever-watchful. This was the kind of tension we were used to though, and it caused no undue stress. We passed two different slow-moving trains of freight wagons hauling goods west, as well as a large wagon train of settlers headed for California on our way.
Sonoita proved to be a town in name only. It was really nothing more than a handful of adobe buildings, centered around a general store. There was no government of any kind. After a quick lunch at the only cantina, we left for the three-mile ride to Fort Buchanan.
The Fort Commander gave us a cordial greeting after discovering who we were, and why we were there. We spent two hours learning the fort was established primarily to stop the cross-border raiding activity of the Apache and Yaqui Indians. The Major in charge of the Fort told us that he patrolled the wagon road as often as he could, but the bulk of his forces patrolled the border area. According to him, Sonoita and the Fort were so far off the beaten path that they had very few visitors or settlers in the area. There were so few visitors in fact, that the fort did not even have any visitor’s quarters. I crossed both Sonoita and the Fort off the list as a regular stop on the circuit.
Early the next afternoon we were a little over half-way to Tucson, the next stop on our circuit, when we decided to stop for a late lunch. I’d just taken a bite of my ham sandwich when I noticed a brown mass on the western horizon, stretching from side to side as far as the eye could see. Before I’d finished the mouthful of sandwich I was chewing, I knew we were in for a big sandstorm. I cursed under my breath, but Anna heard it and looked at me crossly.
I pointed behind her. “Sorry, but we’re in for a sandstorm, my love, and a big one at that. We need to move quickly.”
Sandwiches in hand, we mounted and rode northwest looking for a suitable arroyo or canyon to help us ride out the sandstorm. This wasn’t the Mesilla Valley with its abundance of arroyos and canyons, and finding one was difficult.
We got lucky and came across an arroyo running north and south. It took us a couple of minutes to find a way down to the bottom, and another few minutes to find a curve to better shelter us and the animals.
Using the panniers, packs, and saddles, we built a hollow square, big enough for both of us to fit inside against the western wall. I hobbled and tied the horses and mules to some strong mesquite against the eastern wall before wrapping all their heads in canvas. Finished with the animals I went back over to the western wall and helped Anna unfold our large piece of canvas.
Working together, we slid one end of the canvas down between the wall of the arroyo and the pack frames we’d stacked up against it. When it was far enough down, I lifted each of the two stacks of pack frames while Anna pulled about six inches of the canvas under them, before I set them back down.
The wind had picked up by now, as the leading edge of the sandstorm hit the arroyo and we hurried to tuck the sides of the canvas under the panniers on both sides. Done with that, we scurried under the canvas and I lifted the saddles while kneeling, so that Anna could pull the final ends of canvas under them.
Anna and I sat at the back of our little refuge against the wall of the arroyo between the pack frames. Anna dug through her saddlebags to find the cotton cloth squares we’d packed, while I pulled one of the small water barrels over near us and used it to start refilling all four of our camel packs. When I was done with that, Anna handed me the cloth, receiving her two camel packs in exchange.
We dampened the cloths before tying them behind our necks, making a face mask. We could hear the wind howling around us, see the canvas shaking, and hear it flapping violently. A few minutes later we lost most of the daylight as the brown roiling haze of the sandstorm raged over us.
For the next two days, we sat and waited for the storm to blow itself out. After the first couple of hours, a coating of fine sand covered our hair, clothes, the packs, and saddles. Despite our face masks, the dust managed to get into our noses and mouth and, over time, irritated our throats making it uncomfortable and difficult to talk. Luckily, it wasn’t summer! While the air under the canvas was stifling, we weren’t sweating to death in one hundred plus degree temperatures.
The first twenty-four hours we talked for a few hours before having a supper of beef jerky I carried in a bag inside my coat, so it wasn’t covered in sand. We slept uneasily through the night, and had a breakfast of more beef jerky while we talked some more about the future, our plans, what could go wrong, and what backup plans we needed to come up with.
The final twenty-four hours were maddening, as three different times the wind started to die down and we got more light, leading us to believe the storm was about over, only to have it come roaring back. We held each other and waited silently for the last few hours.
We must have dozed off in our boredom, as I woke up a few hours later with Anna’s head on my shoulder. It took me a few minutes to realize that everything was quiet and calm, and a few moments more to realize that meant the storm was over.
Gently waking Anna, I let her know the storm was over, and we needed to get out from under the canvas. As quickly as I could shift the saddles and lift the canvas, we were out from underneath it and breathing clean, clear, refreshing air.
The horses and mules seemed to have weathered the storm without much harm, and we gently unwrapped their heads one at a time, swabbing out their nostrils with our damp cloths, giving them small drinks and arranging feed bags.
It was almost dark by this time, and we spent what little daylight we had left finding firewood and pulling out what we needed to cook our first hot meal since breakfast three days ago. The last thing we did before going to bed was strip down to get out of our sand laden clothes. We washed both ourselves and the clothes the best we could using almost a full three gallon cask of water.
We finally rode out of the arroyo the next morning, pushing the animals hard, to get to Tucson as early the next day as we could. We were both looking forward with anticipation to a nice hot bath.
We rode into Tucson near mid-morning, and found it to be somewhere between Santa Fe and Mesilla in size. Asking a couple of men, we received directions to the best hotel in town, and tied up in front of it a few minutes later. We checked into a room for two nights. Discovering the hotel only had one tub, I had it sent up for Anna to use while I arranged for the care and feeding of the livestock and went to the barber shop for my bath.
I came out of the barbershop an hour later clean, freshly sheared, wearing fresh clothes, and looking and feeling much better. Anna was waiting in the hotel lobby looking like she was feeling better after her bath, too. She pinned my badge on the outside of my coat and we went in search of the best place for lunch.
We were sitting in the restaurant enjoying a leisurely cup of coffee when the Town Marshal walked in, looked around, and came over to our table. He took in my badge and without introducing himself, rudely informed me that it was customary for visiting lawmen to come to his office and introduce themselves when they got to town.
I sat back in my chair and, as I looked him up and down, I couldn’t help but wonder what it was about people that made them act like assholes when they had a little bit of power. I looked over at Anna who, with a twinkle in her eye, beamed me one of her special smiles. Picking up my coffee cup, I took a drink, wiping my mouth afterwards with a napkin before asking him who he was.
My actions up to this point didn’t sit well with him and he answered tersely, “I’m the Town Marshal!”
“Well, now! That’s sure enough a rather strange name to my way of thinking, but I guess you can’t be held accountable for what your parents named you. What can I do for you, Mr. Marshal?”
“No damn it! My name’s not Marshal, I’m the Town Marshal,” he replied in exasperation.
“Well, why didn’t you say so? I’m Paul McAllister and this is my wife Anna. I’m the US Marshal for this part of the territory. What can I do for you?”
“Damn it man! Are you deaf as well as stupid? I asked you why you didn’t come to my office and introduce yourself when you got into town?”
I was starting to get just a little angry by this point, and looking at him with a glare I said, “That’s the second time you’ve cussed in front of a lady. Apologize immediately and mind your tongue, or Tucson will be looking for a new Marshal this afternoon!”
The Marshal got red in the face as he lost all self-control and started to draw his pistol. Both mine and Anna’s pistols were out and pointed at him in a flash.
He calmed down immediately and moved his hand away from his holster. For effect, I cocked the pistol. “I’m still waiting to hear the apology.”
Looking from me to Anna, who cocked her pistol with a grim look on her face, the Marshal eventually stuttered out his apology to Anna. We both let the hammers down and holstered our pistols.
Taking a drink of coffee, I looked at the Marshal who remained standing in front of our table. With a sigh, I addressed the Marshal, “I don’t know who you think you are, or what powers you think you have, but let me make a few things clear. I don’t know you. I don’t even know your name, since you haven’t had the manners to introduce yourself. I don’t work for you, and I’m not responsible to you. Where I go, when I go, and who I see are absolutely none of your business, unless I choose to make it so.
“My wife and I have spent the last few weeks in the saddle, and two of the last three days hunkered down in a sandstorm, so we’re a little out of sorts. Neither of us appreciate your rude interruption as we’re relaxing for the first time since we started this journey. We may or may not see you before we leave town.
“Rest assured, however, that either I or one of my Deputies will be in town for some period of time at least twice per year. When, is none of your business. I strongly suggest you show yourself to the door with the clear knowledge that you’re still alive only because you’re so slow with your gun that even my wife beat you to the draw.”
Ignoring the Marshal from that point on, I turned to Anna and asked her if she’d like another cup of coffee. At her nod, I poured us both a fresh cup. The Marshal finally turned and left as I was pouring.
Anna looked at me and said, “I don’t think we’ve seen the last of him.”
“You’re probably right, but people like that in positions of authority just get my dander up,” I replied.
Drinking our coffee in contemplative silence for a few minutes Anna finally spoke up. “That Marshal reminds me of somebody, but I don’t know who.”
I shrugged and said it would come to her eventually. We finished our coffee and walked back to the hotel and asked the man behind the counter where we could find the Mayor. He took in my badge, and politely told us that the Mayor ran the livery stable at the southern edge of town.
We walked back to the hotel stables to get our horses only to find the Marshal rifling through our panniers. We stopped ten feet behind him, I drew my revolver, looked at Anna, and cocked it. The sound reverberated throughout the stable and the Marshal went completely still.
“Marshal no-name, please tell me why you’re pawing through our panniers without our permission,” I said in as reasonable a voice as possible.
“I’m looking for stolen valuables. I don’t like the look of you, and I don’t think you’re a US Marshal,” he replied belligerently.
I cocked an eyebrow at Anna who just shrugged. I looked back at the still bent over Marshal before saying, “Stand up slowly, with your hands visible.”
He did as I instructed and as he turned towards us I heard a small gasp from Anna. I glanced over at her getting a look that said we needed to talk in return.
“Marshal, this is a territory of the United States. The 4th Amendment to the Constitution prohibits unreasonable search and seizure. That means that unless you have a search warrant, you are in violation of federal law, and I’m well within my rights to shoot you for attempted theft. This is the second time you’ve made me angry today. There won’t be a next time. Have I made myself clear?”
He started to reply but stopped when Anna broke in. “Pablo, the excitement from the restaurant and now this is getting to me. Please take me back to the room to rest for a while.”
Now that was interesting. She clearly wanted to talk to me as soon as possible. I motioned with my gun for the Marshal to leave the stables. He left without a word, and I tied the covers on all the panniers making sure they were tight before turning to Anna, taking her arm, and leading her back over to our room in the hotel.
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