The Good Samaritan and the Hanged Man
Gonzalo Xoan de Alcantara rode slowly through the peculiar landscape, unlike anything he had seen in the Old World or the New. He and his very unhappy horse were trying to work their way up to higher ground, a range of low hills glimpsed beyond the tangled growth. They were surrounded by swampy forests of towering ferns, and what looked like cedar trees, but weren’t. The ground was sticky green mud, hard going for his tired palomino stallion. Even worse, the air itself was sticky; hot, humid, and thick with the stench of rotting vegetation along with other, stranger scents that made his horse snort nervously. Sometimes the long-suffering beast would find something edible enough to nibble at among the odd plants, but Gonzalo could feel its hide had grown taut against its ribs. There just wasn’t any proper grass to be found in this dismal realm. Still, the proud stallion wanted to live, and so it adapted. He knew he would have to adapt too, learn the ways of this inhospitable country if he wanted to survive.
He often wondered if he might have died without even realizing it. Being a Christian man who had sinned most grievously, Gonzalo thought he must be in Purgatory, or perhaps even Hell itself: The enormous and terrifying lizards, unnaturally large insects, and other seemingly demonic creatures that roamed these sultry jungles certainly lent credence to the theory. Just the weird cries and calls that echoed through the jungle were enough to make a grown man tremble in fear, the evil cacophony of the devil’s minions. Surely, the Lord was punishing Hernando de Soto and his followers for their cruelty toward man and beast. Gonzalo had grown disgusted with de Soto’s inhumanity, and had been making plans to desert his band as they murdered and raped their way deeper into the New World. He had hoped to make his way to Mexico, and enter the priesthood there to atone for his part in de Soto’s evils. Now he doubted he would ever have that chance.
The bizarre event that swept them away to this hellish place had provided the distraction he had needed to make his break. Perhaps de Soto would think him lost in the tumult, perhaps that son of a jackal was on his trail this very moment; it was hard to worry about it much when there were so many other dangers present. Gonzalo kept an open mind. Either he was alive and would continue living until some monstrous beast claimed him, or he was already dead and suffering the Lord’s wrath. Such an inexplicable force could only be an act of God. Whatever had happened, it didn’t really matter now. He was here, wherever here was. He prayed daily for forgiveness for the innocent blood he had spilled, and promised to somehow atone for his many sins.
The stallion stepped into a deeper patch of muck and began to struggle. Gonzalo was fond of his exhausted horse and pitied him, so he dismounted, leading him carefully back onto more solid ground. The repentant conquistador trudged on, his boots squelching through the green mud, looking for an exit from the marshy jungle. After a while, he saw a sight that made his heart leap with joy: an opening in the dense wall of vegetation leading out to a sun-drenched, sandy hillside. At last, he and his horse could escape their fetid prison! Soon they stood blinking under the light of the early afternoon sun, their eyes having grown accustomed to the swampy jungle’s green dimness. Much relieved, they walked comfortably across an open area, the ground a mix of coarse sand and pebbles. They were now on an easy path which ran along the feet of a range of low hills bordering the swamplands.
An eerie cry emerged from the vegetation, not far from where they had just exited. Gonzalo quickly determined it would be best to put some distance between themselves and that place, lest the horrid creatures within decide to chase them down on open ground. He thought that they had been very lucky to survive their time in that foul smelling bog. They moved away at a gentle trot, which was as fast as either of them could manage after the day’s long slog. Reaching the bottom of the nearest hill, Gonzalo led his horse upward at a shallow angle, climbing in a northeasterly direction that would eventually bring them to the top of the wall of hills.
It was fairly easy going, and they were quickly nearing the range’s rolling summit. Gonzalo wondered what may lie beyond, praying that it would not be another swampy jungle! He and his horse both breathed deeply, enjoying a gentle breeze out of the north. The air up here was still filled with the heady scents of strange plants, but it was fresher and cooler. Perhaps they weren’t actually in Hell after all, but Gonzalo kept a keen eye out for danger anyway. A new landscape usually meant new creatures, and if they were anything like the jungle’s terrifying denizens they would be far larger, and more dangerous than anything he had ever beheld in his past travels, dwarfing even the bull elephant that had charged him in Africa. He recalled maps he had seen with chimerical beasts painted along the edges. Everyone knew they were just the artists enjoying a bit of fancy, since they really didn’t know what lay beyond. “Here be monsters!” they always warned. Gonzalo wondered if he would ever have the chance to tell them they had been right.
Coming over the gentle summit, Gonzalo beheld an unexpected sight: a man hanging upside-down from a tree limb. The fellow was European, perhaps, although his face was flushed a purplish-red from his uncomfortable position. A rough rope sling wrapped tightly around the left ankle held the man in the air, his head bobbing four feet above the ground. He had been caught in some kind of a snare. A curved sword lay nearby, gleaming in the bright afternoon light. It had apparently slipped free from its scabbard when it was turned upside-down, and had landed tantalizingly just out of reach of the hanged man.
Gonzalo’s horse snorted, also surprised by the odd scene. The hanged man’s eyes opened, steel-gray irises and bloated pupils floating in blood-saturated red.
“Please,” the man croaked. “Help me down.” He was speaking English.
It had been a number of years since Gonzalo had used that crude islander tongue, not since his time serving as a guard for the Spanish ambassador in the English court. Cold, rainy, stinking England was now the second worse place he had ever been, his current situation having taken first prize by some small margin. The English were by no means friends, but as a Christian, a true Christian, unlike those sons of goats he had parted ways with, he knew he couldn’t leave the poor fellow to such a slow and painful death. Moreover, this might be a test from God to see if he would be merciful to a potential enemy. After a moment of concentration, the foreign words came back to him. Gonzalo cleared his throat, he had not had cause to use his voice for many long days.
“May I first ask, who are you, sir?” he called out politely. That seemed a reasonable question before freeing the fellow. The hanged man struggled to twist his body around to get a better look at Gonzalo.
“I’m Corporal Nate Tucker, U.S. Army Cavalry scout. This here deer trap got me last night. I don’t think I can take it much longer. Please, I’m begging you, cut me down!”
Gonzalo didn’t quite catch all of that, but he was pretty sure Corporal Nate Tucker claimed he was a soldier in an army, although he was unfamiliar with the rank. Hopefully he would prove to be a true soldier, a man of honor, not a roving butcher as de Soto had been.
Gonzalo tied his horse carefully to a low, thorny branch. Usually the stallion could be trusted not to run off, but even a seasoned and battle-trained mount such as his might lose courage at the approach of a lizard-demon! He carefully scanned the area to make sure there were no further traps. Assured of his own safety, Gonzalo took hold of the soldier’s midriff, and lifted him a few inches to take the pressure off. This caused the man to gasp, and go limp. Just as well, Gonzalo preferred him to be unconscious for the time being. He used his dagger to cut the hanging rope, then eased his burden to the ground as gently as he could. This was no easy task. The soldier outweighed him by a good forty pounds, a remarkably large and well-fed person!
“Holy Mother of God! You are a heavy one, Corporal Nate Tucker!” Gonzalo swore aloud, hoping the Lord would forgive him for his unfortunate exclamation. He feared that from his current, sinful state, he had a long way to go before he could be possibly accepted as a priest, even in the half-pagan churches of the Mexican wilds. Grunting some more, he did his best not to drop his charge on his head, thus adding further injury.
Once he had placed the unconscious man safely on the ground, Gonzalo went to work on the rope still twined tightly around his ankle, being careful not to cut too deep. Luckily, the soldier’s skin was protected by sturdy leather boots, with dark blue trousers made of very heavy cloth tucked into them. A quick glance at the rest of him showed gold buttons on a coat of the same color and firm weave as the trousers. The fine-looking, but functional riding wear of a very successful soldier! Gonzalo was most impressed. Apparently he was rescuing a high ranking officer; only a man such as that could afford this kind of quality. Gonzalo began to work the boot off, turning his face up toward the breeze to escape the unpleasant odor emanating from within.
He hoped he was in time. He didn’t relish having to cut a gangrenous foot off. He had seen a surgeon perform that operation after a battle once, and knew it to be a grisly task. Gonzalo massaged the calf for a few minutes, then carefully worked his way down to the foot, helping blood to slowly flow back into it. The soldier moaned, and he whispered a quick prayer to the Lord that He be merciful, and keep the poor fellow from waking up just yet. The returning blood would feel like the piercing of a thousand thorns. Now, rubbing the foot gently, he could see a bit of color returning to the ghostly white flesh. The foot reeked because of a long separation from air and clean water, but it was a normal man-stink, not the rancid stench of spoiled flesh. Gonzalo moved the toes around to increase the blood flow to those extremities. He looked up at the too-blue sky and spoke aloud in his native Spanish.
“Am I doing right by this unfortunate placed in my path, dear Lord? If I had any oil I would anoint him with it, as Mary of Bethany did for Your only son. Please, Lord, help this man recover fully from his trial, I, Your willing servant, most humbly pray.”
After a while, Gonzalo could see the foot had returned to a nearly normal color. It would likely be sore, and difficult to walk on for a few days, but it was intact. The soldier would not end up a cripple.
“Thank you, Lord, thank you for Your mercy,” Gonzalo whispered, head bowed. When he raised it again he noticed that there was a large object hanging from the soldier’s smooth, black belt. It was a leather pouch containing an odd looking item. At the top he could see a pearl handle. As softly as he could, so as not to alert the still groggy soldier, Gonzalo unclasped the holster. He pulled out a long, silvery barrel. His blood began to run a few degrees colder. It looked like some kind of a firearm. Gonzalo thought of the bulky harquebus hanging from his own silver-studded shoulder belt. This thing was smaller, smoother, and he suspected deadlier.
Of course, a rich officer would have only the best of pistols, but Gonzalo had never seen one of such quality, even in the royal courts of England and Spain. He gave the soldier an apologetic shrug as he carefully placed the weapon in his own leather storage pouch, just for a while, until he could further gauge the fellow’s mood and intentions. He picked up the fallen saber as well. How that must have been a torture, the means of escape just out of reach! Gonzalo was an excellent swordsman, but there was no sense in taking any chances. Hopefully he could make peace with this soldier from a country he had never heard of.
Gonzalo noticed the shadows growing longer, the light growing thicker. Evening would be coming before too long. All that exercise had left him hot and sticky under his breastplate. Over the past few days he had steadily shed different pieces of his armor, such as the elbow and knee plates that constricted his movement more than he liked. He was storing them in his saddle bags until he decided whether or not to part ways with them. They were heavy, and took a toll on both himself and his horse. It was also possible they might be the only thing that could save him from the terrible bite or raking claws of the nightmarish creatures he had encountered; so far the thundering report of his harquebus had kept those at a distance, but the powder wouldn’t last forever. It was a conundrum. In the end, he thought he would decide on traveling light as his best chance for survival. Once all the ammunition was gone, it would be better to flee the beasts as fast as he could without the armor slowing him down. It will be as the Lord wills!
Gonzalo shook his head in dismay. Now he had another neck to look after. For the moment Corporal Nate Tucker was lying in the shade of the thorny tree that had been his prison, sleeping soundly. Another mercy of God. He placed one of his water skins near the soldier so he could find it easily upon awakening.
After scouting around a bit, Gonzalo decided that right where they were was as good a place as any to make camp. The sparse trees were gnarled, thorny things, with thick, stubby leaves. They looked like something you would find in an arid region, but he had never seen their exact kind in any desert he had visited. The “hanging tree” was near the hill’s top, which afforded them a view all around. To the east Gonzalo could now see a wide region of open spaces, plains and distant mesas, a very different landscape from the swampy jungles behind them. The sight made him smile. This looked more like the world he knew. Perhaps he would find Mexico after all, or some other somewhat civilized region. He gathered fallen branches for a fire. The wood was oily; it would probably burn well. Soon Gonzalo had a sizable blaze going. He began to feel safer. Fire was one of the few things the nightmarish creatures in these lands seemed to fear.
Nate began to stir. He sat up slowly and reached for a wide brimmed leather hat that that had fallen nearby. Once that was placed on his head his eyes seemed to come into sharper focus. He nodded to Gonzalo as he rubbed his foot.
“Thank you, sir. You’ve saved my life,” he said in a strong, baritone voice.
Gonzalo bowed his head politely. “It was God’s will that I came along in time. Drink some water,” he told him, pointing to the canteen. The soldier graciously returned the nod, and took a long swig. He paused to get that one down properly, then took another.
“I was sure I was going to die. You sure saved my butt.”
“God is merciful.”
Nate nodded politely, not wanting to offend this obviously religious person. Not yet, anyway. “I reckon He is, seeing as how he sent the Good Samaritan my way.” Nate saw that appellation make his rescuer smile and blush under his deep tan. Bingo, religious. “Still,” he added, “He sure has a funny sense of humor sometimes. Must have to have created a place like this one! I’ve been on the run from horned-toads the size of hills for days now, never seen nuthin’ like it in my life.”
“The dragons. Or demons. Perhaps He is testing us.”
“Mebbe so. Still, I’d like to find my way back to regular country. I don’t s’pose you know the way, do you?”
Gonzalo shook his head sadly. “No sir, I am afraid I am as lost here as you are. I had hoped briefly that perhaps you would know the way.”
“Well, that’s a shame.” Nate took another long swig of the water. His head was still swimming from its time upside-down, but he was beginning to feel better. Nate put the skin down and took a minute to drink in the sight of his rescuer.
Before him was a slender fellow, obviously in top physical condition, muscular, and graceful in his movements. Probably a well-trained fighting man. His face was long and rather sad, the look of a man who had felt many years of melancholy. The nose was prominent and hawkish. His beard and eyebrows were a bushy black over deeply-tanned olive skin. Bright golden-brown eyes reminded Nate of a falcon’s. This was not a man who would miss much. The clothes were the thing that gave Nate pause, he had never seen anyone dress so outlandishly. The man wore a dented, but still remarkably shiny helmet, with a high fin above, and a metal brim around. It came to a sharp point in the front and back. He also wore a silvery breastplate, just like a knight in the old time stories. Beneath the armor was a quilted cotton coat of deep crimson. His forearms had buckled on bands of metal to protect them. A wide belt with an outlandishly large golden buckle held up a pair of green breeches tucked into brown leather boots that nearly reached his thighs.
Nate knew the man must be one of those bloodthirsty conquistadors he had heard about from the twentieth-century people, but he seemed civil enough. He decided to play dumb on the subject and draw Gonzalo out.
Nate shook his head, pretending to be puzzled. “I guess you must be my knight in shining armor, mister. I heard you speakin’ Spanish, but I’m fair sure you’re no Mexican. Your English is pretty good, but some of the words sound funny, like something out of the Bible, or them Greek myths my pappy liked to read. Where the heck are you from, anyway? Argentina? Cuba? Spain?”
Gonzalo flushed a little. “Please pardon my rudeness. It is inexcusable of me to have asked your name, Corporal Nate Tucker, and not provided my own. Please consider that at the time I was preoccupied with how to safely rescue you from your imprisonment.”
Nate raised his eyebrows, a little surprised the guy had remembered his full name and rank at one hearing. This was a sharp stick, all right, and he could sure talk smooth.
Gonzalo rose up to his feet, where he stood proudly at five feet, ten inches, and gave a graceful bow. “I am from, as you say it in English, Spain. I am a Spaniard. My name is Gonzalo Xoan de Alcantara, originally from the province of Seville. I came to the New World in the service of my king and under the command of Hernando de Soto, but I am now—unattached.” Better not to tell another soldier that I am a deserter, Gonzalo thought.
So, Gonzalo had been with de Soto! Nate rose carefully to his feet, favoring his injured leg. He kept a close eye for any sudden moves from the Spaniard. Nate was five inches taller than Gonzalo, and had a heavier build. Maybe he wasn’t in quite as top physical condition as his rescuer, but he was still a strong man, and indeed, a seasoned soldier. Nate had no doubt Gonzalo would make a dangerous foe.
“Well, that’s a mouthful, so how about I call you Gonzalo, since I can’t even pronounce that one in the middle. Just call me Nate, that’s what the folks was always hollerin’ after me. My full name, since you gave yours, is Nathan Theseus Tucker, born in what is now the Republic of Texas, near Austin. Corporal is my rank in the United States of America’s Army, who is my employer, but I am also currently unattached.” Nate didn’t say anything about being caught in the sack with a Cherokee chief’s teenage daughter a fewweeks after their arrival in this strange world, the little indiscretion that had caused him to light out on his own until things cooled down. Best not let on to another soldier that I’m a deserter, Nate thought. He smiled, shrugging his broad shoulders.
“Thank you, Nate. Gonzalo is my given name, so please do call me that.”
Nate nodded cordially, but still kept a wary eye on his rescuer.
“All right then, Gonzalo, we are fine and well introduced.” Nate wanted to find out more about Gonzalo’s relationship with that evil bastard de Soto. He decided to try to draw him out further.
“Say, Gonzalo, did I hear you say you was with Hernando de Soto?”
“Yes, I was with de Soto, we were following the great river when we were taken by some unknowable force into this evil country.” Gonzalo paused as he saw an odd look come over Nate’s face. “Do you know de Soto? Has he harmed your people? If so, please, accept my most profound apologies. I have broken with that devil and his band of murderers, and intend to become a man of the cloth to atone for my sins! I have no fight with any Englishman, or whatever country it is you served, so please, let we two remain at peace!” Gonzalo’s rich voice rung with a plaintive tone.
Nate believed the man was perfectly sincere and was relieved not to be in the company of an unrepentant raider.
Nate let out a low breath. What to say? From the sound of him, Gonzalo wouldn’t be upset by the news. “I know of de Soto. I heard he’s dead now.” He rubbed the sandy-colored stubble on his chin and waited for Gonzalo’s reaction.
Gonzalo’s bushy eyebrows raised in surprise. “Then a scourge has been removed from the Earth. He will face God’s justice now!” A certain weight seemed to slip off Gonzalo’s shoulders.
Nate figured it was time to lead the discussion away from that subject. “Well, that explains why you’re dressed so funny. This thing that happened to us, that brought us to this crazy country, still has a few tricks up its sleeves. You’re from the 1500s. Where I come from the year is 1838, and I’m not an Englishman, but a lot of my ancestors were. I speak English, but I’m a Texan. In the ‘when’ you came from my country didn’t exist yet. Shoot, just when I think none of this could get any stranger, here you are, a living breathing man from almost three centuries ago.”
They regarded each other for a moment, Gonzalo absorbing this revelation. The Spaniard shook his head in wonder.
“So. We are not just men of different lands, but different times? You came from my future. I only believe it because of all the other impossible things I have seen. Tell me, Nate, is Spain still a great nation in your century?”
Nate scratched the back of his neck and said, “Well, it’s still a nation, but it lost some territory along the way. I’m afraid you missed its heyday. My pappy was a learned man, and he made sure I knew my history. You and me coming from different times might explain a few other things, too. I’m starting to think that maybe we are still in North America, just in another time, a long, long time ago. Some other folks I ran into who say they are from even farther in the future than us, all think so.” Nate saw Gonzalo’s questioning look and said, “That’s a whole ’nuther story, I’ll tell you later. Anyway, they said that in the twentieth century they had been digging up monster bones that were so old they’d turned to stone, and we are now back millions of years in the ‘Cretaceous Age,’ when all these big critters, which they called ‘dinosaurs,’ were still running around. It’s all hard to swallow, but looking around here, I figure they might have the right of it.”
Just as Nate finished speaking, a wailing howl rose up from the jungle beneath them. Gonzalo had heard it before and forced himself to stay calm. Long shadows had stretched across the landscape, it was almost sundown. Instinctively, Nate reached for his pistol and found it wasn’t there.
“What the hell? Where’s my gun, Spaniard?”
Gonzalo took a step back, arms held out in a gesture of supplication. “Please, Nate, I didn’t know if you were a man of reason or not. I had to wait to see if I could trust you.” Gonzalo very slowly reached into his leather pouch while Nate scowled at him, and brought out the pistol, holding it gingerly by the pearl handle, barrel down. He put it down on a cairn of flat stones someone had left there, and then did the same with the man’s sword.
“Here are your weapons back. Please, forgive me.” Gonzalo stepped backward a few paces to give Nate room to retrieve his belongings.
Once the pistol and sword were safely back at his belt Nate gave Gonzalo a grim smile.
“Does that mean you trust me now?” Nate asked him, head cocked a bit to the side as if not sure he would believe whatever he heard next.
“It means I trust in God. If you are the Angel of Death sent to bring me to my final judgment, then it is His Will, and I accept my fate.” Smiling beatifically, Gonzalo turned his back to Nate and began to gather more deadfall. “Now, it is growing late quickly. Let us build up the fire. It is our best hope of keeping the night’s beasts at bay. Then we shall have something to eat. I have some dried meat, don’t ask me from what creature, as I cannot truly say what it was. It seemed more bird than lizard, but had claws on its wings. It’s not really food fit for a man, but it’s all I have, and I will gladly share it with you if you wish.” The howl came back again, perhaps a bit closer. “The fire! We should hurry! Build it large!”
They spent the next few minutes warily scrambling about for more wood. Nate favored his sore ankle, but managed to get around fairly well despite his ordeal. Once they had a six-foot-tall blaze going they relaxed a little. The howling jungle-thing must have smelled the smoke, and decided to move on, its call receding back into the inky depths of the jungle below.
Gonzalo now tended to his horse, making sure it was tightly tied to the thorn tree by a lead long enough for it to browse whatever odd shrubs it could find nearby. He brought out a handful of precious oats, carefully fed them to the animal, then poured some water into its open mouth. This was something they had practiced during their years together, man and beast in partnership.
“That’s a good boy, sleep well, my friend,” Gonzalo muttered to it in his native tongue.
“He’s a beautiful horse. What’s his name?” Nate asked. It took a moment for Gonzalo to realize that Nate had spoken to him in Spanish, albeit with an outrageous accent.
“You speak my language!”
“A lot of folks down in Texas speak Spanish, and I just picked it up over the years. It’s probably not as good as that funny old-time English of yours, but I can get by.”
Gonzalo found himself smiling broadly. Suddenly, this stranger he had rescued, this man who said he was from a future time and a country that didn’t exist yet, didn’t seem that strange any more.
“His name is Flavio, for his fair color. A ‘blondie,’ you might say. We have been together for five years, and he is more than just my mount, he is a good friend.” Gonzalo rubbed the stallion’s cheek gently.
Nate looked down at his boots. “Yeah, I know how that is. I have a horse, too, but it ran off this morning while I was caught in the tree. Bad piece of luck all that, I had just got down to take a little siesta in the shade when that snare done nabbed me! Didn’t have time to tie her up. She would’ve come when I called, but just then she got spooked by that whooping critter out there and tore off. Can’t blame the darn animal none, I would’ve run for it, too. Thought for sure that thing was going to come eat me, although it would have found I still had some fight left.”
Nate patted the butt of his pistol with what Gonzalo thought was a kind of affection. A powerful weapon indeed…
Gonzalo felt keenly for the loss of Nate’s horse, he could see the man was more upset about it than he was letting on. He felt that Flavio was perhaps part of what kept him going, someone else to care for, even when all the world had become a hopeless wasteland.
“Which way did it run?” Gonzalo asked, trying to sound encouraging. “Perhaps we can track your horse, find it for you!”
“Went that-a-way.” Nate pointed northward along the low range that separated the jungle from the plains. “There, you can see the tracks. Poor little Poppy, I bet she’ll be some big bad beasty’s dinner. Cryin’ shame.”
Gonzalo thought for a moment that the tall, tough looking soldier might actually shed a tear, and couldn’t help but pity him. “Nate—please, do not despair. In the morning, at first light, I will help you track your horse. I have hunted big game in terrain similar to this, I have some skills.”
Nate stared at Gonzalo, a hard look coming over his tanned, square-jawed face.
“Why would you do that for me? You don’t know me from Adam! I mean, I appreciate you saving my life and all, but I can’t ask any more from you. I don’t like to be in another man’s debt.”
“Do not think that way, please. It will be my pleasure. I have traveled alone in this wilderness for too long, and I am sure there is safety in numbers. By providing another set of eyes, another sword, you would be helping me as much as I would be helping you! Besides, I have nowhere else to go and at least by helping another I may yet find favor in the eyes of my Lord.” He cast his eyes down. “I have much to atone for.”
The look on Nate’s face softened. “I s’pose I have a few things to atone for, too.” Nate thought about telling Gonzalo about the part he had played in the Trail of Tears. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as a conquistador, but there were some innocent deaths weighing on whatever passed for his soul these days. For now he decided it best not to say too much regarding his own origins.
“Well, Gonzalo, I’ll bet ya I’m as big a sinner as you, so don’t be so hard on yourself. Tell you what, I’ll take you up on your offer, it’s a deal! And—thank you.” Nate stuck his hand out. Gonzalo took it. The creature howled again in the distant darkness.
“I’ll take first watch,” Nate said. “I’m too full of thinkin’ to sleep just now anyway.”
* * *
Nate tended the fire and stalked about their camp, watching the starlit horizon until well after midnight while Gonzalo snored softly, sleeping in a sitting position against the bole of the tree, completely hidden beneath a black wool fleece. Eventually he stirred, then stood up, stretching with a groan.
“Get a good sleep?” Nate asked.
“Yes, the best in many days, thank you. I knew either you would watch over me, or I would have passed beyond such cares, a liberating feeling, yes? Now, if you like, I will take the watch and repay your kindness.”
Nate nodded, thinking about the offer. “Right. Well I’m one ‘tuckered out Tucker’ as my pappy used ta say, so I will accept.”
Gonzalo smiled brightly. “Then, it must be that you trust me? I am pleased.”
“I trust you more than I trust God, that’s fer sure. He never seemed to cotton much to me. Anyway, g’night, Gonzalo Xoan de Alcantara, originally from the province of Seville.”
Gonzalo laughed aloud, pleased that Nate had actually remembered all of that in one hearing. This is a sharp one, do not be fooled by the easygoing demeanor. He is a crocodile sunning himself on the banks. When he does move it will be with unexpected speed and unstoppable force, Gonzalo thought, regarding his new companion with the cautious respect of a fellow warrior.
Nate lay down on a cowhide at a safe distance from the spitting and sputtering fire, the oily wood occasionally shooting out showers of sparks. He wadded a smooth wool blanket striped with many marvelous colors up under his head, and stretched out, his thick coat and breeches more than enough cover for the sultry night.
“Sleep well, Nate.” Gonzalo looked up at the countless stars scattered across the inky black sky, and wondered at the Lord’s mysterious ways.
* * *
The dawn rays shone across the plains, bathing the world in a golden glow. The branches of the thorn trees filled with light, it was hard to look directly at them. They cast long, twisted bronze shadows across the nearby jungle’s brooding expanse.
The sunrise revealed a new spectacle to Gonzalo and Nate. Far to the west, across the wet, shimmering lowlands, rose unbelievably huge coniferous trees. The arboreal giants formed a great, green wall from north to south, a living mountain range of shining needles and radiating limbs. Both men silently marveled at the awesome beauty before them.
“I had thought we were in Hell.” Gonzalo spoke in a low, reverent tone. “I must have been wrong. Only God could create such beauty. Surely, he would not do such fine work as this in the land of the damned.”
After a long, silent time gazing, they tore themselves away from the paradisaical vista. A few minutes later they were following the tracks of Nate’s horse northwards along the low-lying, sandy hills.
There was something about the nature of that morning that caused both men to stay quiet. There was much they would have liked to ask each other. Fighting men separated from their armies come to miss the companionship of their brothers in arms. But, there was a pall on the land that made them keep their own counsel. As they followed Nate’s horse’s skittery tracks, they walked side by side in companionable silence. Gonzalo led his gear-laden horse, taking things a bit slowly, as he could see Nate still favored his injured ankle.
All three kept a wary eye and ear out for danger. The unearthly howl came again, hidden by the mass of vegetation below and behind them. Now they knew the cause of their disquiet; they were being followed.
“Have you ever heard a sound like that back in Spain?” Nate whispered.
“No, never!” Gonzalo whispered back. “I have even been to such exotic lands as Africa and the East Indies, but never have I heard a beast with such a voice. It is no jackal, nor wolf.”
“Whatever it is, it’s probably huge and full of sharp teeth. Shit-fire, I wish that fool nag of mine had the dang sense to turn east and get well clear of that jungle!” His whisper was a sincere lament.
Gonzalo nodded in silent agreement. He thought about allowing Nate to ride Flavio, but he was such a large fellow, and his horse badly needed a rest after their sojourn in the swamps.
* * *
They pressed on, moving at as fast a pace as they could without losing the trail in the hard scrabble between sand drifts. Nate’s face was grim, he kept his hand on the butt of his pistol at all times, but it gave him scant comfort. The only way he had escaped the big critters so far had been by outrunning them on his horse. Now things had gone from pretty bad to plum awful.
It was still two hours before noon when Gonzalo’s horse gave a snort and shook his head.
“What is it, what do you smell?” Gonzalo asked the animal, gently rubbing his broad, pale-gold cheek. Flavio snorted again, shaking his head up and down. Then he bent his neck low to the ground and sniffed with great interest. Gonzalo turned to Nate, who had an incredulous look on his face. Gonzalo laughed, quietly.
“Flavio is no hunting dog, but he does have a very large nose, yes? Tell me, what kind is your horse.”
“It’s an Appaloosa, one of them Injun breeds.”
“No, I mean what is the animal’s gender? Is it a boy horse, or a girl horse?”
Nate started to grin. “Why, lil’ ole Poppy is a girl horse! She’s just as tough as any stud or gelding, that’s fer sure, and she’s carried me through some hard fighting.” Nate began to chuckle softly, too. “So, your Flavio’s manhood is intact.”
“A stallion, indeed! And, he always has a nose for the ladies. Your mare cannot be far, fear not friend, randy Flavio will find her!”
Both of them grinning like fools, they charged ahead, letting Flavio take the lead now. As they came around a slowly curving hillside the horse paused.
“He smells something else now. Let us hope it is not our noisy friend, yes?”
“I haven’t heard that critter yelp for a while now, must have decided we were too much to make a meal of. I get the feeling most of these critters ain’t never seen a proper man nor horse before. Still, they have a way of looking at you like they’re wondering how you’d taste, so I never stick around long enough to let them find out.”
“I hope it is so, those howls were enough to make a man shiver even in this heat. Here, let us stay out of sight until we see what lies beyond.”
Using the odd looking plants that passed for brush and trees in those parts for cover, they worked their way forward until they had a view. In a shallow draw ahead of them, they saw a camp. There were three men that were surely American Indians, gathered around a fire. They were wearing little but tanned-hide breechcloths and bead necklaces, their hair was long and raven black. Nearby, was Nate’s mare, alive, but trussed up on her side like a deer ready for skinning. The men were busy sharpening some kind of knives—Nate’s heart leaped into his throat.
“Damn it all! They’re fixing to eat her! We gotta stop ’em!” he started to rise, loosening the pistol at his side.
Gonzalo gently put his hand on Nate’s shoulder. “Please, Nate, wait! These are the first men besides ourselves I have seen in this place. Do you not think it would not be better to befriend them? I have seen too many people such as these murdered at de Soto’s’ decree, I would not see it again. Let us try to reason with them.”
Nate forced himself to take a deep breath. It made him angry to see poor Poppy suffering and in danger. “All right then, you have a point, but I’m not feeling too friendly right now. These are prob’ly the bastards who set that snare I got caught up in! They didn’t even leave a warning for innocents passing by.” Nate was simmering with resentment.
Gonzalo cocked his head, remembering something. “Actually, Nate, I think they did leave a warning. That cairn of stones near the tree, that must have been the work of a man, and something a dumb beast would never notice. That must have been their warning sign!”
Nate scowled deeply, but nodded his head in acquiescence. “Yeah, you’re quite likely right about that, I suppose that makes me a dumb beast, too,” he said ruefully. “Still, it wasn’t anything most honest, clothes-wearing men would take notice of. You have a sharper eye than I do, Gonzalo.” Nate took a moment to study the group carefully. “I seen a lot of Injuns in my day but I ain’t never seen this tribe. They kind’a look like they might be a branch of Sioux, but I can’t be sure.”
“I think I may know them! They somewhat resemble the Pacaha people, who we had dealings with. If so, I can speak some of their language!”
“Are you sure?” Before Gonzalo could answer, a too familiar piercing wail filled their ears. Their wide eyes followed it to its source, directly below them in the jungle at the bottom of the hill. There was something moving through the dense foliage, something big.
“Oh, shit,” Nate whispered.
“A dragon,” Gonzalo stated with an awed, almost reverent tone.
They watched the fearsome creature come crashing out of the jungle. A dragon, yes sir, that about covers it.
It was thirty feet tall and weighed around two tons. The deadly predator walked on two massive hind legs like a ground bird, but with a long, muscular tail held behind as a counterbalance for its enormous head. The thrashing front claws were relatively small compared to its size, but still big enough to tear a man in half. Its main weapons were the fang-walled, gaping jaws that could swallow a grown man in a single bite. These doors to death were currently wide open as it bellowed its unearthly, ear-splitting howl. Gonzalo thought it must make this sound to startle and immobilize its prey in abject fear. It was certainly having that effect on everyone present. The terrifying beast took in the scene with a sweep of its glowering, violet-lensed eyes. Having decided who to eat first, it lunged into a charge at the group of natives to its left.
Before Nate could even begin to draw his gun, wiry and quick Gonzalo had jumped onto his horse’s back. With a click of his tongue he sent his well-trained mount thundering forward, headed down the gentle slope on a collision course with the monster. Gonzalo freed his nine-foot-long, steel-tipped lance from its clasps on the saddle and brought it to bear, aiming at the dragon’s side just below its upper claws.
Nate swore to himself, then shouted after him, “Hey, Saint George! Come back here, you loco Spaniard!” He started to run after his rapidly accelerating companion. This made his still-sore leg start to ache something fierce, which did not improve his mood one bit. “Goin’ ta get us both kilt! He’s a regular goddamn Don Quixote!” Nate cursed to himself as he raised his trusty Colt revolver before him, ready to take any shot that might do some good, although the weapon felt like a kid’s pea-shooter when pitted against that thing.
Gonzalo was yodeling at the top of his lungs, a sound that was able to cut through the creature’s howling and get its attention. The massive beast tried to slow its charge, realizing that something was attacking it, a very rare occurrence indeed! This fine and deadly top predator had never seen anything like the bizarre animal that was coming at it, seemingly a four-legged, two-armed beast with a single, long horn. The “dragon” was about to make a sudden turn and bite the intruder in half, when it skidded on a patch of hard scrabble between the sand drifts, and started to lose balance. Its bid to quickly change the direction of its mass was thrown off by the slide, and it began to keel over, away from Gonzalo and his horse. Those tiny pebbles scattered across the clay ground had probably saved Gonzalo’s life, at least for the moment.
Flavio was fast and sure-footed, Gonzalo urged the stallion on with a squeeze of his calves. There! The dragon has lost its balance, there is our opening! May the Good Lord protect us! Just as the creature began to topple over as it skidded, they arrived. Yodeling like a madman, Gonzalo drove his lance deep into the thick, azure-blue and light-gray striped hide that covered the creature’s rib cage. Gonzalo could feel its flexible length shiver as the razor sharp tip glanced off a huge rib, then delved further into its innards. The liquid pops and splitting tears of ruptured organs could be heard as the lance drove deeper and deeper toward the heart of the dragon.
Gonzalo leaped free of Flavio, keeping all his weight on the lance, allowing the horse to vault safely over the bulk of the falling beast. Gallons of thick, scarlet blood fountained out of the wound as Gonzalo let go of the weapon. The remainder of his momentum sent him off in a brief, uncontrolled flight into the underbrush. He was jarred, but not seriously injured. It took him a few moments to thrash himself free of the thick growth that had mostly broken his fall. Flavio had very nimbly managed to leap clear of the jungle’s edge, and was warily circling at a safe distance from the downed dragon. Gonzalo, muscles already throbbing and sore from his less-than-graceful landing, walked cautiously over to examine the beast’s head where it lay on the sand, heavily muscled jaws still thrashing slowly as if it were chewing its prey in a dream. The violet eyes were closed, and its breathing was a ragged wheeze. The dragon was slain, or nearly so. Gonzalo was quite sure he had driven his lance directly into the terrible thing’s heart.
He looked over to the three tribesmen. They all stood frozen, their mouths agape and ebony eyes wide with astonishment. Gonzalo raised his arm in the way that he had seen the Pacaha people do, and shouted out a greeting in that tongue. As he took a step toward them he paused, feeling an uncomfortably hot wind at his back, a wind that smelled of rotten meat. Gonzalo turned around to see that the dragon was not quite dead yet, the huge jaws had opened wide and were lunging toward him, the beast using the last of its strength to end the life of its slayer. He would not have time to run before they scooped him up and snapped shut, the dagger-like fangs slicing him into pieces. It was hopeless, but he began to draw his sword.
“Dear God, have mercy on this sinner!” Gonzalo prayed with what was surely his last breath.
A loud report blasted through the sultry air. The creature’s head dropped to the ground, closing the jaws with a bone-chilling clack. Gonzalo had stood firm, his sword held firmly in both hands as if ready to cut himself free from a flesh and bone prison if he could have somehow dodged the fangs.
“And stay down, you cussed varmint!” Nate shouted at the now thoroughly deceased monster, giving it a firm kick in its pebble-scaled jowl just below its ruptured, bloody eye. He had placed a bullet directly through the pupil into its brain, finishing the job for certain. Nate looked at Gonzalo and flashed him a self-satisfied grin. “Lookie here, now we’re even. You saved my skin, I saved yours.”
Gonzalo shook off the terror of the moment and grinned back. “Of course, my friend, we are even. I have no words with which to thank you! If not for you I would have surely perished in the jaws of the beast, serving as its last meal!”
“More like an appetizer. There ain’t enough of you to make a decent meal. Something small and spicy before he went for the corn-fed cuts.” Nate clapped his stomach soundly. “Now, let’s go see about my horse.”
They walked slowly toward the camp together, arms outstretched in a gesture of peace, both splattered in the blood of the monster they had killed. The three men there watched them approach, their own hands held out in the same gesture. They stopped a few yards away from the simple camp, and Gonzalo began to speak. Before he could say a word the three tribesmen started talking quickly in exalted and excited tones, laughing and smiling at them. Then they were taking their bead necklaces off and placing them over Gonzalo and Nate’s heads, their reverent movements conveying deep gratitude.
“What do you figure they’re saying?” Nate asked Gonzalo, smiling back at the very friendly fellows while trying to politely dodge having more beads placed on him.
“It is a different dialect of the Pacaha language from the one I learned, but I can understand much of it. They are calling us great heroes. I am fairly sure they wish to praise us for our bravery, and thank us and for saving their lives.” Gonzalo paused as the men continued to gesticulate and babble on in high-spirited tones. “Oh, now I am quite sure they have given us a title, something like Killers of the Terrible Lizard! I am certain they consider this the highest of praise, they must surely live in great fear of these dragons.”
“Well, we’re just like old Saint George, a couple of bona fide dragon-slayers! At least you look the part with your shining armor.” Nate managed to smile back at his new, and highly effusive admirers. The three tribesmen began to settle down, ushering Nate and Gonzalo toward the fire. Nate didn’t like the hungry way they kept looking at his bound-up horse. He drew his saber to cut her loose, and if there were to be any misunderstanding about that he would use the blade to drive home his point. There was no cause to waste precious bullets on these half-naked fellers and their stone knives. Poppy saw him, and gave him a plaintive whinny. I’m a-comin’, lil’ darlin’, don’t you fret now!
Gonzalo had forgotten all about the issue of Nate’s horse, he was so taken up with the warm praise their hosts were showering upon them. This guy don’t get out much, Nate thought darkly to himself. Gonzalo called out to him with almost child-like delight.
“Nate! We have been invited to dine with them! We are their honored guests!”
“That’s wonderful, Gonzalo! Now please let them know that horse is not what’s for dinner!”