Devil's Creek Massacre Page 22

  It was night in the desert south of Bustamente, and all was still except a lone man and woman riding deeper into Mexico. They drooped in their saddles, struggling to stay awake, traveling only after sundown, hoping to avoid Apaches, banditos, Comancheros, and the Mexican Army.

  The man rode three lengths ahead, hat low over his eyes, peering through moonshadows for the flash of an Apache's eyes, and listening for the clank and clamor of cavalry while cradling his Winchester in his arms, loaded and ready to fire.

  He was sinewy, bearded, with an expression of determination on his youthful features. He looked like a fox, or maybe a black panther with rosary beads, as he led the way to Monterrey.

  The woman also was young, with a white shawl over her head and shoulders, and she was with child. This gave her contentment as she dozed in motion while the little creature swam within her secret sea. “Your father was a great man, and you will be great, too, someday, my beloved child,” she whispered gently, then raised her eyes devoutly toward the heavens. “Lord, please shower your mercy on the spirit of dear departed Capitán Ricardo Cochrane. I admit there was much he did not understand, but he was a good man deep down, and none of us ask to come here in the first place. Ricardo Cochrane did his duty as he saw it, but I bow to Your will, Padre mio. Let we who call upon you never be put to shame.”

  The weary horses plodded onward, while above them glittered a star brighter than all the other constellations, like the star of Bethlehem. It guided them across tractless desert wastes, as choruses of insects sang madrigals, and a raven flew past the face of the moon.