The Right Eye of God by Bacon Thorn

Author:Bacon Thorn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dark Horse Comics
Published: 2013-07-31T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter XIII

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Except for taking a water break and a moment to stretch their legs, Navarre and Yuma stayed in their saddles until early afternoon, when they passed through a brief but violent thunderstorm that washed them clean of the dirt and grime they had accumulated on the mountain where they had left behind a dead man and an enigmatic zopilote which Yuma was sure had returned from the dead.

The bare and rocky soil of the ridge top on which Navarre and Yuma were riding was an old roadway; it was evident that people had used it once and it probably ended at some abandoned mine. Fresh tracks in the mud of the old roadway revealed where a hungry coyote had just crossed, moving quickly after the storm to search for small rodents driven from their flooded burrows. Yuma pointed out a roadrunner fluffing its feathers in the sunshine, looking twice its normal size as it dried from the rain.

As the long day wore on, Navarre knew that if Yuma was as bone weary as he was, she was ready to drop. He could see the strain in her face, half-moons of paler, dirty skin under her eyes, contrasting with the light-cinnamon coloration of her face. He thought that if he could divert her attention from her aching body, she might quit thinking about how exhausted she was. Though it was an effort to talk on horseback, he said, “Out here somewhere to the east of us is a bruja, a very wicked and magical witch who, according to Victor Villaseñor, who wrote a story about her, grew the most luscious peaches in all of Mexico on a tiny farm. Once she sent the village priest a basket of the juicy peaches and some fried chicken, and he died.”

“You mean she poisoned him? Why?”

“She was a witch.”

“Okay, why were her peaches so great?”

“Because she fed them on the blood of the chickens she killed. She sliced their throats and held them at arm’s length to bleed over the roots of the trees.”

“Don’t tell me you believe that?”

“Sure, it’s true, just like the sun is the right eye of God.”

“And I suppose the moon is his left eye?”

“Could be, and it’s just as true as what they’ll say about you when we reach Sisiqichuc.”

“And what’s that?”

“Las piernas más torneadas.” He smiled at her. “It means you have the best-carved legs in the whole village.”

Yuma blushed, chuckled, and said, “You really know how to cheer up a girl, don’t you?”

In the late afternoon, when the two sunburned, exhausted travelers dismounted and stumbled into a desert shelter, they dropped to the sandy floor, bone tired and weary beyond words. Side by side, after drinking from their water bag, they sat against one of the rounded stone walls of a shallow cave in a small arroyo with their legs outstretched in front of them. For several minutes they slumped, breathing slowly, grateful to be resting their aching bodies. An hour had elapsed by the time

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