Macho Caballo Chapter 23 The Heart of the Matter 2/15/98
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                        MACHO CABALLO

                 PART 2, CHAPTER VEINTITRES

                   THE HEART OF THE MATTER






Buffalo Wattle carefully lifted a twisted tangle of wood
from a beaded bag. "Keep your hands off of it!" he cried. He
held it at arm's length to discourage Black Elk, who was
reaching to finger the twisted fibers.

"Where did you get this?" asked Black Elk, "It looks like
tinder to build a fire."

"This is a magical hat," announced Buffalo Wattle, "It came
from a lightning-struck tree."

"Isn't that the medicine man's bag?" asked Tall Horse.

"Of course it is," said Buffalo Wattle, "I merely borrowed
it for a while to help us find White Dog's pony."

"Since he let you borrow it, I suppose it is all right,"
Black Elk said carefully, "But... "

"He told me how to use it," the chief's son said, "When you
wear it you can see true shapes.  I will show you."

"You are taking a chance," muttered Tall Horse, "Magic can
turn on you if you aren't careful."

"What can you see?"  The shortest member of the little group
was White Dog, allowed to tag along because he was the best
at following faded animal trails.

Buffalo Wattle had fitted the contraption over his head, so
he was peering out of two holes shaped roughly like
eyepieces.  "Tall Horse, you look no different," he said
before turning to the others, "White Dog, you have the shape
of a weasel.  You would be very good at getting into small
places."

"I knew that," muttered White Dog.

"And Black Elk..." Buffalo Wattle began to snicker.  He
laughed, bending over and holding his sides until he could
draw a clear breath, and said, "Black Elk, this is
wonderful!  You have the shape of the civet cat!"

"I do not think this is so wonderful," growled Black Elk, "I
would try this hat.  Perhaps it will show me something."

Buffalo Wattle reluctantly surrendered the tangle of
splinters and watched as Black Elk settled it onto his head.

"Now, I see..." Black Elk began, "...I see... hmmmph."

"What do you see?" White Dog said, agitated.

"Buffalo Wattle has the shape of a bull buffalo," grumbled
Black Elk.  Buffalo Wattle relaxed and smirked.

"I would look through this thing," said White Dog, as he
reached to take it from Black Elk's head.

"Careful!" cried Tall Horse, "It is indeed magic if it helps
you to see the true shape of a person.  Do not damage it."

"I will be careful," snapped the short boy as he placed his
head into the tortured wooden bowl.  He looked about for a
moment, then sighed in disappointment.  "Everyone looks the
same," he said, "Is this a joke?"

"No!" said Buffalo Wattle, "It belongs to the medicine man.
I have seen him use it before.  It worked for me."

"How did you get this thing?" asked Tall Horse suspiciously,
"The medicine man would not lend you such a powerful magic."

"I asked for it," said Buffalo Wattle, though he neglected
to add that he had asked his sister and not the medicine
man.

White Dog had been using the eyeholes to scan their
surroundings.  "There is a deer coming over that rise," he
said.

"Huh?  How do you know that?" asked Black Elk.  Just then a
buck with velvet antlers bounded above the hill, saw them,
and leaped away.

"So, it tells each person a different thing," said Tall
Horse, "I would look through it."  White Dog kept the hat
for another few moments, trying to spot another deer, but
finally had to give it up.

"It shows me nothing," said Tall Horse.  "You all look the
same.  There is nothing coming over the hill."

"When I look at you with the hat, I do not see another
shape," said Buffalo Wattle, "Perhaps you were not meant to
look through it."

"Perhaps this is true," admitted the tall lad, "Let me try
again."  He stood in one spot and slowly turned around,
looking in all directions.  "There," he pointed toward the
hills in the south, "I see someone coming.  A woman.  A
wolf.  And a jaguar."

"Aiiyyee," breathed Black Elk, "Someone is coming, truly.
With my own eyes I see a woman and two men.  They are
strangers."

Buffalo Wattle smiled, but there was the cold of stone in
his eyes. "Let us go and greet them," he said.




IT'S THE CODE OF THE WEST, EVERY GIRL NEEDS A DOWRY:(1)


"Funny thing about the Apache," Comstock mused as he
accepted another snifter of brandy, "The bucks will go to
all sorts of trouble to win a girls affections.  Now, I've
seen some injuns where the man bosses the woman around...
not the Apache.  Those boys gotta go acourtin' and the girl
tells 'em when."

The conversation was interrupted by raised voices from
inside the cantina.

"Heck, ain't that enough?" rang a man's voice, "I brought
you flowers, I took you dancing, and now you won't even give
me one little..."

"Do you think I'm some kind of cow you can buy with some
cheap presents and a sashay around the barn?"  A woman's
voice overrode his, "I don't have time for this!"

A young man in a black broadcloth coat came stomping out of
the cafe, slowed to mutter a greeting to Comstock, and
hurried off down the street.  He had a reddened mark across
his cheek.

"Case in point," Comstock hefted the brandy, knocked it back
and poured another snifter, "That gal has *got* to be part
Apache."

"Got some friends who might be visiting some Apache,"
Lonesome said, "They're the ones I'm looking for."

The old cattle rancher examined the bottom of his glass
through the burgundy liquor, "Hope you said your good-byes
to them `afore they left," he said, "Tribes around here
don't cotton to people droppin' in on them."

"Maybe you could point me in the right direction."

"I'll tell you this.  See them hills over there to the east?
Head that way.  Don't stop `til you reach Louisiana.  Safest
thing you could be doin'."

"Reckon come mornin' I'll head west, then."

"Or north, you really planning on getting your head peeled.
Or south - been a band hanging around the hills there,
stirring up trouble with the miners.  Matter of fact, they's
going to be a meeting tonight about that.  Some kind of
miner's representative has some 'new ideas' about what they
call 'pacifying the redskin'."

"Can't go anywhere till morning, anyway.  Kids riding with
me got kinda shook up by that duststorm."

"Now, that's a funny thing.  Didn't know anything about it.
I've seen all kinds of strange happenings out here, but that
storm must'a been a real freak.  We didn't see or hear a
thing last night.  Sky was clear as a bell."

"Hit us just outside of Aguas Calientes," Lonesome said,
"Lost one horse when we came down - broke leg.  A couple of
other horses disappeared, must have run off when the
earthquake hit."

"Bad luck, I say," tutted the rancher, "Earthquakes,
duststorms, tornadoes," he leaned against the porch railing
and ran an appraising eye over the cowboy's lanky frame,
"What sort of work did you say you did?"

"Helping round up horses to sell down in Mexico.  Before
that I did some iron work."

"Oh, wellll!  Blacksmith, huh?"

"A little apprentice work as a farrier.  Doin' journeyman
stuff now."

Comstock threw his arm around Lonesome's shoulder.  "My boy,
I can tell you that any time you want to settle down in
these parts I'll bankroll you.  And that ain't just the
likker talking, either.  We need a blacksmith around here,
bad."

"I'll consider it.  For now, I still owe Mister Calpern a
year or so work.  Plus I have to mind his nephew.  He's back
at the boarding house watching over the girl."

"Yeah, I overheard Missus Brown saying something about them.
Nice boy, she said, said he was real polite.  Pretty little
filly, too.  They related?"

Lonesome grinned, wiped it away.  "Not yet," he said.

"Back to what I was talking about," said Comstock, "Kids
today are getting married without a penny to their name.  No
foresight, I call it."  He made himself comfortable in a
canebottomed chair, leaning back and planting his boots on
the porch railing.

Lonesome nodded, took his second sip of brandy.  Comstock
was several glasses ahead of him.

"Them injuns got the right idea.  They look ahead.  Them
bucks gotta come up with five or six ponies to pay for the
bride," said Comstock, "Sort of like a dowry, only in
reverse."

"Shows they are interested," said Lonesome.  He was looking
into the other room, where a comely lass was serving food to
the diners.

"Well, I prefer the way we do it," said Comstock, "If you
wanted a dowry, you couldn't do any better than that gal in
there.  Half my spread, a couple thousand head of beef,
horses, mules, and milk cows.  Gonna be a rich gal someday,
when I kick off."

Lonesome nodded appreciatively, "Your daughter?" he asked.

"Yep," beamed Comstock, not bothering to tell him that he
was looking at the wrong girl, "Takes after her mother, rest
her soul.  Thank God she didn't look like me."

Lonesome looked at each building on the short main street,
which did not take long.  The only thing stirring in the
afternoon heat was the town's mangy dog, a mutt which had
enough ambition to walk halfway across the dusty street
before collapsing for a rest.

There was a screech as Comstock pushed his chair back and
stood, going back inside for a fresh glass of brandy.
Someone else sat in the chair and again Lonesome heard the
screech as the chair was dragged into position.  The boots
planted on the porch railing were noticeably more feminine
than Comstock's had been.  Lonesome looked into green eyes
surrounded by auburn curls.

"Hell-o," he said.

"I'm Angie Comstock," said the woman, "That was my father
you were talking to, just now."

"Pleased to meet you.  Ranching, I understand."

"Yep," she smiled.  Like her father, she examined him from
boot to broad shoulders, "And I think I overheard you say
you've done some blacksmith work.  You look it."

"Some.  Raised into it."

"Settling here?"

"Passing through.  Looking for someone, a Mexican boy, his
grandfather, and two Indians.  Maybe they came through
here."

"Nope.  Of course, I could have missed them.  We've been on
the ranch until this morning."

"Why in h..." Lonesome began, "...why in thunder did your
daddy decide to build a ranch out here, anyway?  There ain't
nothin' but hardscrabble for days around."

Angie turned her face toward him, her tan skin making her
green eyes appear very large, "We have all of the things
every other place has," she replied, "It is just a little
farther between things, that is all."  Comstock returned
with his glass refilled.

Lonesome rubbed his chin with his thumb, as though he had
been told that he had a biscuit crumb hanging.  "I'd better
be goin'," he said, "Gotta check up on the young'uns."

"Oh," she said in mock concern, "Do you have children?  I
was hoping you could stay around and talk about your home,
but if you're a family man..."

"Ain't my kids," gruffed Lonesome, "I was lookin' after a
boy who rode with Calpern out of Oklahoma down into Mexico.
There's a little Spanish gal with him.  She got roughed up a
little in a storm last night.   He's there to keep an eye on
her, but I need to be sure everything's all right."

"Why, Mister.... what did you say your name was?"

"Folks just call me Lonesome, Ma'am."

"I can hardly understand that.  Handsome man like you must
have lots of company."

"Fact is, Ma'am, I sorta discourage it.  Don't want to get
tied down.  Now, if you'll excuse me..."

Comstock called his daughter aside, "What do you mean, going
on about him being handsome and all?  That is no way for a
proper lady to be talking to a man!"

"Shush, Daddy," she said, "It never hurts to be truthful if
you can be polite at the same time.  Besides, I want him to
know how I feel about him."

"Could it be..." Comstock stopped, agape, "Could it be
you've finally found one you won't send away with his tail
between his legs?"

"Why Daddy," Angie smiled, "You'd think I was some kind of
old maid, desperate to grab the first man who came along!"

"Well, you're pushing eighteen," huffed the older Comstock,
"Isn't that what you are?"

"Oh, yes," she purred, "And now I think one has come along."

--------------
(1) From "Code of the West", sung by Roger Miller in
`Waterhole Number Three'.




AMBUSH:

"We'll never get anywhere," grumbled Ramon as he trudged
over the sand and gravel, "I wish I had my horse."

"Must you always complain?" said Wolfwalker, "You are a
weakling!"

"Oh, yeah?" Ramon returned, "Well, your strongest part is
your mouth!"

Wolfwalker ignored the jibe, "I have seen smoke, far to the
northeast.  We must keep going if we are to get there before
dark."

"Probably the wrong bunch of Apaches," Ramon said, "If my
abuelo had not disappeared, he would know how to talk to
them.  He could bargain for horses."

"If he did not get us in trouble, first," Red Cloud spoke
for the first time that morning.

"Oh, yeah," said Ramon, "There is that chance."

"But he says he has been teaching you," smiled the Azuma
maid, "Perhaps you could do the same as him."

"Yeah, I probably could..." Ramon stopped to glare at her,
"That wasn't funny!" he said.

"It was to me," she smiled, "I have faith in you, Ramon.  I
know you can do the right thing."

Mollified, Ramon trudged on.  As he walked, a soft smile
wandered across his face, and he thought about how rarely he
smiled lately.

Wolfwalker paced alongside him, placing himself between
Ramon and Red Cloud.  "The smoke is no closer," suggested
the tall Indian,  You could walk faster."

The smile vanished, "I am tired," said Ramon, "I am not
accustomed to walking."

"You always walk with your head down, even when you are not
carrying a burden," said Wolfwalker, "You walk like a
woman."

Ramon turned to glower at him and stumbled over a hummock.
He sprawled, and the pack went tumbling and broke open.
While he gathered the pack and refilled it, Red Cloud spoke
softly to Wolfwalker.

When they resumed their trek, Wolfwalker began taking longer
steps to forge ahead.  As he passed Ramon, he said,
"Weakling!"

Too tired to match his pace, Ramon watched him move away
beyond the rise.  "I am *not* a weakling," he said, "I'm
just tired, that's all!"

As he and Red Cloud walked the bushes seemed to come alive.
An Indian warrior thrust aside his camouflage and brandished
his hatchet with a grin.  Another grabbed him from behind
and threw him down before he could move.

"Wolfwalker!" cried Red Cloud as she, too was captured.

Wolfwalker strode back into sight, dropped his pack and
charged into the bunch of warriors, crying in rage.  One
tall warrior went spinning, dropping and crushing a beaded
leather bag he was carrying, while Wolfwalker knocked the
shorter man to the ground.  The biggest warrior had been
holding on to Red Cloud.  He swung her around and brandished
his hatchet, saying in Spanish, "Stop!  I will kill her!"

Wolfwalker slumped and allowed himself to be bound with
leather thongs.  As they started out once again on the same
trail they had been taking, listening to their captors
inventory their packs, Wolfwalker said, "It is my fault.  I
was a fool to talk and not watch."

"Silence!" cried the leader of the warriors.



AFTER THE GLORY OF THE HEROES:

"Oh, there you are, Broken Cloud!  I am returning your bag.
I am afraid I dropped it, I hope nothing was damaged."

"I saw you give it to your brother!  What do you mean,
taking something so valuable and rare?" cried Broken Cloud,
"You must leave such..."

"There is NO harm done," said Yucca Blossom, "It was
useless."

Broken Cloud ceased ranting and stood puzzled, before he
repeated her words, "There is no harm done.  It was
useless."

"You did NOT need it.  You have learned to do without it."

Again the medicine man repeated her words and added, "Do not
grieve if it is broken, Little Blossom.  I do not need it
anymore," said Broken Cloud, "I saw you give it to your
brother before he went to hunt.  Did they use it to catch
these people?"

"Yes.  The tall man and the girl are simple travelers," she
said, "But the boy in white... Aiiyee!  He is beautiful!"

"Is that what they are?  I was seeing something else,"
Broken Cloud smiled indulgently, his anger from a moment
before gone like a troubling cloud, "The boys have been
noticing you," he said, "It is time you began to notice
them."

"I am sure my brother has some mischief planned for them,"
said Yucca, "Maybe I can speak for the Mexican boy.  He
could stay with me.  I would cook him a meal he would never
forget!"

"Ah, my little blossom," said Broken Cloud, "You must never
use your herbs and potions to force others against their
will."

"I never do that," Yucca smiled innocently, "I only use them
to help people."

"I must speak to these people," said Broken Cloud, "I have
something to tell them."

"You will NOT see them," said Yucca Blossom as she dumped
the crushed bag at his feet and departed.

Broken Cloud watched her cross the compound, a tiny spark
within him still struggling to speak his own words, "I will
not see... him," he gritted through his teeth, "But I will
see the medicine man from the Loose Foot group.  He will
want to question them."


--------------

"We have to find Bluenose!" said Ramon, "That is the only
way we can get out of this mess."

"You are out of luck," the Apache warrior said, "We are
going to bury you up to your neck in the hot sand and let
the ants feed."

"Can't we talk first?" Ramon cried.

"Don't wheedle!" growled Wolfwalker, "Look at Red Cloud! She
is not afraid to die!  Are you no braver than a woman?"

"Part of the time, yes!"

The tall Azuma lad scowled, "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Quiet!" snapped Buffalo Wattle, "Here comes your
executioner!"

The door flapped open and a frowning warrior stamped down
into the shaded floor.

"Bluenose!" cried Ramon.  The warrior gazed at him for a
long moment before relaxing into a slow smile.  He took
Ramon aside and spoke quietly to him in Spanish.

"My heart is good to meet you, She Goes Ahead," said
Bluenose, "I had not thought to see you here in your male
form."

"Don't say anything about that!" hissed Ramon, "Some of my
own people do not know about my... my problem!"

The skin around Bluenose's eyes crinkled as he indulged in a
conspiratorical smile,  "Then I will not tell them," he
said, "It is wise of you to travel this way.  But you have a
great power.  This is a thing you must share with some of my
people.  We have need of a sign."

"Wait a minute," said Ramon, "What did you just call me?"

"'She Goes Ahead'.  This is the name told to my son when he
asked the jaguar-lady how you were called," said Bluenose,
"But if you do not wish it known, I will not say it.  I,
too, have a secret name which I do not speak except to
allies.  Here in this camp I am known as Spirit Finder."

"Finder?"

"It is better than 'Smeller', is it not?  When we hunt, I
find the places where the bad spirits do not trouble us."

"Yeah, I suppose," said Ramon, "I don't remember anyone
saying I was 'She Goes Ahead'."

"My son told this to me, how he asked the jaguar-lady..."

"...Red Cloud."

"Ah, yes... asked the jaguar-lady how you were called, and
where you were to be found.  She said, 'She Goes Ahead', and
you would meet them later."

"I think I would have preferred 'Machita'," grumbled Ramon.

---------------