CHAPTER 1
The doe gazed inquisitively at the still prone figure lying on a nearbysandbar. Her spotted fawn standing beside her nuzzled the crystal clearwater of the Rio Grande River. The doe stood rigid, ready to springto safety at the first sign of danger from the strange unfamiliar object.Finally, satisfied no harm would come to her or her offspring, she everso slowly lowered her head to drink. But suddenly a slight movementfrom the silent figure alerted the doe; she leaped agilely into the thickunderbrush bordering the river. The spindly legs of her fawn churneddesperately to keep abreast of its guardian.
Tearing through the dense underbrush, the two deer didn't hearthe racking cough as the man gave up the river's water. As the retchingsubsided, the man raised his head, causing a wave of dizziness. ButJim Bodeen was able to pull himself out of the marsh to stand onwobbly legs before stumbling across the sandbar. He splashed throughthe shallow slough where the deer had drunk and dropped tremblingto the ground. He sat quaking and shivering with his head in his handswaiting for his mind to clear.
Running his fingers through his hair, Jim winced as he encountereda huge lump. The sudden pain triggered a throbbing, as if he had beenstomped by a mule. A hazy memory began to take shape. He was on ahigh bluff overlooking the Trinchera River where it flowed into the RioGrande. Then he was falling; after the sensation of falling, his memorywas only a misty vapor—except for Mary.
Who was Mary? Try as he might, his thoughts were all jumbledup, like weighty fog—floating—weird impressions kept fading in andout. His brain didn't want to cooperate. He couldn't think coherently.Vaguely, his mind seemed to clear somewhat. Yes! Mary was his sister.How could he have forgotten her? He hazily recalled leaving her allalone at their campsite, planning to be gone for only a few hours. Hesplashed water on his face, shaking his head trying to clear his thoughts.Slowly, his thinking began to take focus.
He was planning to scout the river basin looking for a good approachto the other side, and hopefully, bring in some fresh meat. What timewas that, he wondered. How long had he been away from camp? I muststart back immediately, he thought. Mary must be worried deathly sickwondering what had happened to him.
As his mind began to clear, he remembered it was near noon whenhe approached the drop off above the bluffs. He recollects scanningthe river banks for a trail that would descend the cliffs, and hopingto find a good place to cross the Rio Grande River. The sun was nowalmost directly overhead. That would mean he had been gone fromcamp overnight, at the very least, maybe even longer. There was no wayhe could say what day it was or even where he was at.
Fighting down the sickness in his stomach, he struggled up theeast bank of the Rio Grande. At the top, Jim sat down until the nauseapassed and his head began to clear. As he tried to orient himself, herubbed the knot on his head. He could feel dried blood; it was thenhe realized he had been shot. Suddenly, like a curtain withdrawing, histhoughts became clearer.
Shot? Yes, he remembered now with all simplicity. He had heard thedistinctive crack of rifle fire. He had felt a blow to the head, fallen fromhis horse, and plunged over the cliff to the swirling water of the riverbelow the granite bluffs. He recollects breaking surface momentarily.During that brief moment, there was a flash of something extremelybright and a series of voices.
In the recesses of his mind there was something else he shouldrecall. Seemingly important, whatever it was, it kept escaping to therear of his thoughts. He just couldn't grasp it. Even though it keptdrifting in and out of focus, it was definitely there. But he could notcollect or organize his thoughts for the worrying concern he had forMary.
Had she heard the rifle shot? Probably not, he thought. Hecalculated the distance from where he was shot to their camp site, andconcluded it was more than a mile. Yet, it was possible for the sound tocarry that distance in the thin mountain air. Even if she had heard thesound, she most likely thought it would have come from his rifle—thathe had bagged some fresh meat.
Jim got to his feet and looked around; he was a total stranger inthis country. But if he had fallen into the river, he would have floateddownstream. By following the river upstream, he would surely comeupon the granite cliffs where he was shot. Then from there, he couldfollow his tracks back to their camp. But as Jim gained higher ground,searching for some familiar landmark, he saw nothing he recognized.He soon realized he had drifted farther downstream than he hadscouted.
Jim Bodeen trudged wearily northward, keeping the river in sight.Perplexed, his thoughts kept jumping from one image to another. It wasdifficult to concentrate on one subject for any length of time. It washard to tell if his head hurt due to the bullet wound or the difficulty intrying to figure out where and what had happened to him. Whateverthe case, it was nauseating. With every step he felt like he could vomitmore water.
Jim stumbled along, there were so many questions: by whom?Why? He had no enemies, at least none he knew of. Was getting shotan unavoidable accident? Or had there been Indians about? No, hedidn't think so. He hadn't heard of any Indian activities for quite sometime. Then who could be responsible, and why? The more he thoughton the possibility of it being an accident or mistaken identity, the morebewildered he became; so much so, that his head throbbed painfullyjust trying to figure out the probabilities. He just prayed that when hegot back to camp, they would be able to make some believable senseout of what happened to him.
Neither he nor Mary where familiar with this area of the country,nor did neither of them know anyone. They hadn't seen a living soulsince leaving the town of Doubletree, a sleepy little ranching communitywhere they had stopped a few days back. The campsite Jim selectedto rest their stock, and to make needed repairs, was off the beatenpath of travel, completely isolated from view for miles around. Hisreasoning for scouting the fertile river basin before making a decisionwas whether to push over the rugged mountain ranges which lie beforethem, or possibly homestead in the vicinity.
Jim scanned the horizon in hopes of seeing a plume of smokeindicating Mary's location. But finding nothing to give him hope,he became more apprehensive. It was late in the afternoon before thegranite cliffs came into view. With the sight of a familiar landmark hispaces increased noticeably.
Other recognizable landmarks also became visible. He stoppedmomentarily as he crested the rise overlooking the small meadow nestledamong giant cottonwoods. He saw no movement, but of course, Marywould have brought the stock in for the night. But seeing the campsitegave a certain rise to Jim's expectations. Just knowing their camp wasunder the heavy grove of foliage, he hurried forward.
Once he descended the slope where he had a clearer view, he sawno sign of a camp. At first he thought he might be mistaken as to thelocation of their camp, but the closer he got to the grove, he knew hewas right—this was the correct location. But where was the wagon?Where was Mary? Could she have moved the camp? Everything wasgone! Disappeared! Confused, he continued deeper into the grovelooking for some tell-tale sign he wasn't going crazy.
Positive this was the very spot where he had left Mary with thewagon and their belongings, he hurriedly began searching for someindication of her presence. Nothing!There was absolutely nothing to beseen! He ran forward, stopping where he was positive he had parked thewagon. Jim fell to his knees again searching for some—any—indicationto prove he wasn't going mad. But there were no wagon tracks, noanimal tracks, no dropping to indicate any living thing had ever passedthis way. Gripped with uncertainty, he approached the large stoneoutcrop where he had dressed out some fish that he had caught theirfirst evening in camp. Nothing! He scratched around on the ground;he couldn't find any fish scales or any evidence whatsoever to prove hehad cleaned fish here.
"Mary!" He shouted. His voice sounded abnormally loud in thestillness. Nothing but the hushed, gentle breeze playing with the leavesabove met his ears.
"Mary!" He cried at the top of his voice. Again no answer came.
Jim forced himself to stay calm, to think more clearly. He had tothink this out, but his head ached so intensely he felt extremely sick.What was happening to him? What had happened to Mary?
"God help me, what is going on?" He prayed aloud.
Jim began searching diligently for clues to what had occurredduring his absence. The fire pit had been completely obliterated and theground tediously tended to make it appear no fire had ever blackenedthe ground. He walked the meadow slowly looking for tracks, horsemanure, cow paddies, an outline of anything, some clue to the mystery,but found nothing. Their wagon had been heavily loaded, yet he foundno depressions cut by the steel-rimmed wheels. He found no betrayingmarks left by brush being swept over wagon tracks, and not one tracewhich could be left by a living being. He was becoming incrediblyfrustrated. The meadow had been so expertly cleared of any evidencethat anyone had ever sat under these cottonwoods. If he hadn't beenso positive this was where he left Mary, he could have easily doubtedhis sanity.
"Lord, Mary, where are you?" he muttered to himself.
Jim's steps were heavy as he made his way to the top of the crestof the gray cliffs, which overlooked the Rio Grande River. Here at thecliff where he was shot was where it all began. Maybe this is the placehe should start to untangle the mystery of the last few days. But there,also, he found no tracks of any sort to verify he had ever sat his horsewhile he studied the river basin. Had he ever been here? Was this all adream or just his imagination?
He leaned over the shear drop, looking into the rapid swirling waterswhere he had plunged. A short way, perhaps, two hundred yards, theflowing stream of the river gave way from the bluffs, leaving a bank ofthick foliage of tangled vines and cattails among other natural flora.There was something about the undergrowth along the river whichcaused him uneasiness, but the light was as such that he couldn't makeout the details which caused the disquieting. He would check it outtomorrow when the light was better.
It was nearly full dark by the time he returned to the meadow. Itwas already getting rather chilly. It would be cold tonight, but a fire wasout of the question; besides, he had no way to make a fire. He couldn'tremember when he had been so tired, hungry, and just downrightdiscouraged with life. Trying to forget the misery of the day, he madehis way down to the Trinchera. He found a place where he could bellydown and drink his fill on an empty stomach.
The full moon hung slightly east of its zenith as Jim sat dejectedlyon the bank of the Trinchera with his back against a giant oak. Hepressed his hands to his throbbing temples and rotated as if it wouldhelp to clear away the blending questions pounding inside his head.Sleep would not come.
* * *
The soft glow of the waning moon which lay on the western rimof the horizon, cast long eerie shadows across the quiet meadow. Twomen walked their mounts silently and slowly into the dying moonlightfrom the depth of the murky tree line. Jim became instantly alert as therubbing of the saddle leather reached his ears. He raised himself fromthe small depression where he had taken refuge from the bitter nightair. Sheets of low lying fog lacing the meadow along the riverbankmasked the movements of the two intruders.
Slowly, the two blurred figures came into view. The two rode quietlyaround the meadow before continuing toward the gray bluffs. Only thebarely audible sounds of rubbing leather betrayed their presence. Jimreached for his six-gun before remembering its loss. He didn't move,but watched the two figures until they begin to fade into the murkinessof the faraway fog bank. They could be range cowboys who happenedto be riding by—but at this time of night? Probably not, he thought.
Jim considered hailing the two men, but not being sure of theirintentions thought it prudent to wait. Keeping to the shadows of thetrees lining Trinchera River, he kept pace with the two comparativelyeasily. He wouldn't be any help to Mary or himself if he were caughtand possibly gunned down, so he kept well to the rear and off to oneside in order to prevent detection.
Before they reached the crest of the cliff, the riders stopped twiceto listen, as though they suspected they were being followed. Jim couldmake out the low tone of voices each time before they continued, butwas unable to distinguish what was being said. Cautiously, he workedhis way as close as possible and still was relatively safe from beingcaught. If he could just get close enough to overhear their conversation,he might pick up some information which would eventually lead himto Mary.
There was one very distinguishing sound which Jim heard in thestill mountain air. A sound he was not likely to forget. One of the menhad a nervous mannerism of clearing his throat frequently, in a veryunusual tendency Jim would easily remember.
After a short conversation, the taller of the two dismounted andwalked toward Jim. Filled with anxiety Jim lay breathlessly still, thinkinghe may have been discovered. But the man passed within twenty feet ofhis position and disappeared down the crest toward the area where Jimnoted the heavy foliage area earlier that afternoon.
Jim worked his way noiselessly along the edge of the drop-off towithin earshot of the remaining man holding the horses. He consideredthe possibility of trying to overpower the individual and wait for hispartner to return. But it was a gamble he didn't feel he could take withMary's life at stake. The likelihood of them leading him to Mary wasfar greater than him trying to force them to talk. Secondly, the onlyweapon he had at hand was a small pocketknife, which would be oflittle use against their guns.
It wasn't long before the man who disappeared came back up thetrail, mumbling to himself. Jim was now close enough to overhearanything the two said. He was extremely apprehensive, and reluctantly,would bide his time and see what developed.
"Well?" the man holding the horses asked.
"Ain't anything to worry about," the other answered. "It's just like Itold the boss. Nobody will ever know what happened here. When I dosomething, I do it right."
"Then let's get the hell out of here," his confederate drawled. "Thisplace gives me the willies."
He was now positive the two were involved in the disappearance ofhis sister and their property.
Jim remained in his position of concealment, even though thetemptation to confront the two was exceptionally overpowering. Hisbetter judgment cautioned him not act in haste. In the half-light ofdawn, Jim unwillingly watched the men ride down the mountain andout of sight. He would pick up their trail at first light and follow themto hell and back if necessary.
It was well daylight by the time the two men were out of sight; Jimwas at the bottom of the cliff. Jim was horrified by what he might find,but there was only one way to find out. Working his way along theriver bank, he came upon what he first thought to be an old rockslide.But on a closer inspection, he found that was not the case. The soil andmuck were fairly fresh. It was readily apparent the high bank above hadrecently been dislodged. Anxiously, he started pulling branches, limbs,and brush away from the large amount of debris which was mixed in theslide. He soon recognized the charred remains of what had once beenhis covered wagon. Filled with apprehension, Jim worked feverishlyclearing away the remaining debris.
What hadn't been carried away or burned was buried under therockslide. Among the heavy, charred remaining timbers of the wagon,Jim found pieces of burnt horse collars, harnesses, harness buckles,trace chains and cooking utensils, but little else. There was no sign ofMary's belongings or that she ever existed.
Relieved he hadn't discovered Mary's body, Jim returned towhat was left of the heavy wagon bed which was only scorched andblackened by the fire. He soon found the particular thick oak beam hewas looking for. He began digging earnestly with the small pocketknifeand the edge of a large harness buckle. Extracting a small tin containerfrom its hiding place, he checked the contents. Inside on top of somecurrency, was a family daguerreotype of him with other members of hisfamily, which was produced years earlier. Jim placed the picture in hisshirt pocket, and tossed the tin into the river. Watching the tiny boxfloat out of sight down the swirling water, he wondered what othermemories might lay at the bottom of the river.
