Valley of Fire by Johnny D. Boggs

Author:Johnny D. Boggs [Boggs, Johnny D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp.
Published: 2013-12-13T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINETEEN

For two days, we stayed like that. I mean, not with her asleep with her head on my lap, and me leaning against that arroyo wall, running my fingers through her wet hair as it dried and thinking of things that would have landed me in a confessional with a million Hail Marys for penance had I not been such a scoundrel and heathen and lapsed Catholic who had never actually been confirmed because I’d been taken by the wanderlust when I was a teen.

I guess I couldn’t actually call myself Catholic, lapsed or otherwise.

We kept refilling that canteen and drinking the water, slowly building back our strength.

I cleaned up the Dean and Adams, reloaded the chambers, put fresh caps on the nipples, and then God delivered us a rabbit.

It wasn’t like I had been praying for one, though maybe Gen had—I’d taken to calling her that, dropping the Sister, as she’d stopped using the Mister—her having a better relationship with the Almighty and Mary, Mother of Jesus, than me. I had left Gen by the water hole, and walked along the arroyo and dried playas, just trying to get the lay of the land, see what this country looked like, and figure out what the best way to Gran Quivira would be.

From the looks of things, Mesa de Los Jumanos, which most folks had always considered the southern end of the Estancia Valley, appeared only six or so miles south. We could start climbing out of this furnace, likely find some water there, and then come into the Liberty Valley and make our way to Gran Quivira.

Sweet Mary, blessed Father, we might just make it out of this place alive.

From the old ruins, we could easily pick up a trail, make our way east to Whiskey Jim Greathouse’s place, where I was sure we could outfit ourselves with horses and grub and clean duds. Whiskey Jim had been dead a few years, but the folks who’d taken over his ranch, like Whiskey Jim, had no love for the law, but respected ladies, especially ones who looked as lovely as Gen. Yep, they’d grubstake us.

Then . . . either go after that gold in the Valley of Fire, or just forget the whole damned thing, and maybe Gen and me could head down to Mexico, live on the beach, eat shrimp all day and night, drink tequila, and live happily ever after.

That’s what I was thinking.

I wasn’t hunting. Wasn’t expecting nothing.

And this jackrabbit hopped out of some chamisa.

At first, I mistaken him for a rangy ol’ coyot’. That’s how big he was. He stopped, started chewing something in the shade, and didn’t even see me.

Well, I had to be no more than ten yards from him, standing in the arroyo. My knees started buckling as I slowly pulled that old pistol from my waistband and my hands got all sweaty, all clammy. That gun was just shaking in my right hand, so I had to steady it with my left.

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