Celtic Fire, Desert Rain
- Chapter One
©2006 Jude Johnson

   Naught but trouble from the start—but damn if he’d give up a challenge, once he set his mind. Evan Jones shook his head. “Right then,” he muttered, Welsh accent rolling the “r” in a cougar’s purr. He dismounted, looped the sorrel’s reins around a nearby palo verde limb, and lifted the coiled lariat from the saddle horn. Rain cascaded from his battered hat brim, blurring his view of the young colt struggling, mired in the arroyo.
   Rain had fallen steadily the past two days, worse up in these mountains. He chuckled, wry humor twisting his mouth. The Southern Arizona desert was a land of opposites. Sun seared your skin off from April through July, then the rainy season brought thunderstorms nearly every day through August. Some of them downright fierce. Certain sure, this year of 1886 had to be one of the worst. Most streets in Tombstone flooded already. He squinted through the rain back up the gully. Water would come rushing down from the mountains soon. The ground here was baked solid as brick from the heat, wouldn’t absorb much a’tall, and the runoff could get damned deep damned fast. He started down the bank, slipping between scrub mesquites and prickly pear cactus. He fell once, slid on his rear till he slammed into a rock.
   “Ow, dammit!”
   The yearling’s eye rolled white in fear through the torrent at him. The poor thing groaned and snorted as it tried to free itself from the muck. “And what did you think you were doing running off down here, you great young idiot? Tiring yourself out, you are, getting nowhere,” Evan crooned. He kept talking to calm the terrified horse. “Mind you now, your mam’s up at the barn already. Always running separate from the rest, aren’t you? Grand explorer—look where it’s landed you. Sunk to your belly. Found the one soft mud hole on the ranch, dincha? Hard to drag yourself out when you’re in that deep. Lucky I found you, boyo, or you’d be coyote food by full dark.”
   Careful to stay on fairly solid ground, he tried to lasso the wildly tossing head, but soon gave up. “Come on then,” he soothed, “stop that now, steady on. I’m here to get you out, lad. Don’t want to snap those fine pins of yours, do you?”
   Slowly, the colt settled enough for Evan to pass the lariat beneath its chest to help lift its front quarters. Evan’s foot slipped, and his left leg suddenly sank to his groin in the mud hole next to the colt.
   “Ow! Cachu! Shit! Don’t thrash about, boyo, I’m hoping to father a child someday.” Evan stretched on his stomach to reach for a mesquite branch, hoping it wouldn’t be too brittle to let him pull himself out—
   Luck wasn’t with him. A jagged spear of lightning brightened the arroyo so white it sharpened every thorn, every cactus needle. Thunder crashed within a second. The colt panicked, screamed and lurched hard to the right.
   “No!” Evan cried out when his left knee snapped as he grabbed hold of the mesquite limb. He nearly passed out, but managed to hold on, fighting the pain. The young horse rocked, bellowed, fought frantically—and pummeled Evan’s leg against the edge of the sinkhole.
   Time it… time it now, he told himself. He hauled hard on the branch when the pressure let up for an instant. Mud sucked his boot off. He couldn’t get totally free. The weight of a year-old horse slammed hard against his lower leg. He managed to get his right knee under him to take the weight. As soon as the pressure eased again, he hefted his leg from the hole.
   “Sweet Jesus God in heaven,” Evan panted. Damn, can’t anything go right this day? But the colt had loosened the suction a bit by rocking side to side, and the heavy rainfall had slightly thinned the mud. Evan’s left hand still held the lariat. He threw the rope around the small tree trunk in front of him, looped it, and grasped the end with his right hand. Thank God for leather gloves.
   Nauseous with pain, he scuttled back to the edge of the mud. “Shh, boyo. Calm now. I’m going to pull you onto your side, and you’re going to get yourself up.” He laid out on his right side and reached with his left hand for the colt’s neck. “Come on, come on, that’s it, roll over.”
   The horse grunted, resisted at first, but eventually leaned to his right. Evan kept pulling the rope taut with his free hand as the colt lay closer to him. The rope was slick with rain and mud, and he had to loop it around his palm to keep his grip.
   Drenched through, his hat gone missing, he concentrated only on pulling, moving his hand up the rope, coaxing the colt to lay its head, then its shoulder, then its front quarters beside him. Finally the forelegs were clear and the animal splashed to its feet to stand. Evan realized he lay now in a few inches of running water. Thunder rumbled behind him, shook the ground.
   A crash to the left grabbed his attention—a wall of tumbling debris rushed straight for them. They had seconds at most. “Shit!” He tried to free his right hand, hauled on the rope hanging from the yearling’s chest to disengage it from the mesquite tree. Terrified, the horse nearly trampled Evan where he lay, his left leg useless.
   He had no time to swear, no time to think, before water lifted him and threw him forward.

   Reyna Montoya Svenson Jones donned the oiled yellow duster by the door, fastened it tight and stepped onto the back porch of the ranch house. Bright lightning stabbed the distant southeast. Fear shot up her spine when thunder immediately cracked the air. He should have been home by now. “Evan, vuelve a mi,” she breathed. Come back to me.
   No time to waste. She leapt down the steps, and ran to the barn. She saddled her buckskin mare, grabbed her serape and rope, and headed into the storm. Solid sheets of water blew into her face. She saw a shape, dark against gray as she neared the southeastern arroyo. A riderless horse galloped toward her. The sorrel gelding Evan had ridden this morning, scared and heading for the barn. She urged the mare on harder against the wind.
   A half-mile, then another of nothing but rain and mud. They reached the wash, full of running water. Tree branches and chunks of logs tumbled at frightening speed. Reyna scanned the edge, but any prints had washed away. Silent, she rode farther south along the bank, afraid to picture what she might find.
   Another dark form loomed out of the rain. Her mare lifted its head and whinnied, nostrils flared, and ears pricked forward. The yearling colt stood with its head down and legs splayed, shaking. A man hung by one arm, tangled in the lasso around its belly.
   ¡Dios mio! Her heart raced as she jumped down and ran to him. He lay face down in the mud, his right arm at an odd angle and too long. Looked dislocated. Was he alive?
   Cautious, Reyna turned him over. Rain beaded on his bloodied cheeks. “Evan, Dragón. Te quiero, te amo. I love you. Don’t you die on me.” Her hands wiped mud away, felt for a pulse. He took a shuddering breath, and she cried out in relief.
   “Hell…” He coughed, turned away, and vomited water. Eyes scrunched tight in pain, he lost consciousness again. She leaned over him and cupped his face in her hands. She touched her forehead to his, sheltering him from the rain. Her throat tightened. Gracias a Dios you’re alive, husband. She checked his right shoulder—definitely out of the socket. One, no, three breaks in the left leg. Difficult enough to set one, but three… andale pues, get him home first.
   The storm lessened and the rain dwindled to mist, but for how long? Reyna hurried to pull the serape and rope from her saddle where the mare stood patiently nuzzling the colt.
    “Ah, Chica, glad to see your son again, ¿sí? I’ll thank him properly when we are home.” Reyna laid the thin wool blanket next to Evan. “Lo siento, corazón, pero es necesario,” she said. She placed her right foot on him and grasped his right arm. Good thing he was unconscious. He cried out when she snapped the ball of his shoulder into place.
   That leg… nothing nearby to make a solid splint, she realized. Lost the boot, too. Gravity may help hold the bones if she did it right.
   Rolling the serape lengthwise made it a long, firm tube. Careful not to push too hard, she laid the center under his foot, and brought equal lengths beside his knee. Good—long enough to reach the middle of his thigh. She threaded the rope under, over, under, over, weaving x’s forward and back. She tied the makeshift brace firmly at his thigh.
   She clucked her tongue for the mare. “Ayudame, amiga. Help me.” She tapped the horse’s knees to get it to kneel. “Stay, amiga, por favor. Don’t move.”
   Reyna crouched at Evan’s head, slid her hands beneath his shoulder blades. Inch by inch, she worked her forearms around his ribcage, lifting while she crept forward to support his weight against her upper body. At last, she got her arms around his chest and lifted him to sit, facing the mare’s rump. She only had to scoot him a foot or so closer to the horse.
   “Whew, corazón, estás poco gordo. No more pie for you.” Taking a deep breath, she hefted him from behind and threw him on his stomach across her saddle. The horse grunted, staggered up.
   “Whoa! Cuidado, despacio.” Once the mare settled, she checked Evan’s splint and his shoulder.
   The yearling snuffed the ground nearby. Reyna went over to rub its ears. She removed the lariat, noting places where the hide had rubbed raw. “Ven conmigo. You come with me now.”
   Removing her duster, she took the mare’s reins, mounted up behind the saddle, and covered Evan with her coat. “Vámanos,” she called to the colt as she turned northwest. Like a chastised puppy, he followed.
   Sun broke through a small opening in the clouds, rays of hope that lit their path. But she worried all the way home.

   Evan dreamed of a bell. A single bell, tolling deep. Strong arms lifted him and pain seared through his body, carrying him into darkness.
   When light returned, an angel with raven hair and blue-violet eyes smiled. Sharp stabs took his breath. Didn’t think there’d be pain in heaven, he mused. Mind you, where are the harps?
   A low chuckle. “Harps? What makes you think you’re in heaven?”
   Had he spoken aloud? Mmm, nice voice that, low alto, a little raspy, familiar… safe. My love, my wife. Aren’t I dead, then? He felt her cool hand on his forehead. Her fingers caressed his hairline, toyed with his thick, dark curls. He kept his eyes closed, savored the sensation. She eased pain in lovely little ways.
   “Been to hell,” he replied, not quite sure he wasn’t still dreaming. “Can’t say I cared much for it.”
   “Yo creo que sí, corazón. I believe that, yes.” A spoon touched his lips, warm chicken broth, full of herbs and spice. He sipped, tasted a hint of bitterness after each swallow. Suddenly tired, he thought to open his eyes, but they lay too heavy.
   “Sleep now, fy Draig, my own Dragon of Wales,” he heard as he drifted down. “Sleep deeply while we set your leg.”
   “Now I know, certain… sure,” he murmured.
   “What, corazón?” Soft lips touched his.
   Did all angels smell of citrus, or only this one of his heart?
   “What are you sure of, Evan?” She played with a long curl on his forehead.
   “Reyna.” He was nearly gone, heavy and warm. “You… here… heaven.”

   “Good, got him out of those wet clothes. Stuff works right quick, doesn’t it then?”
   Reyna smiled at Evan’s older brother as he came to the bedside. His blue eyes shadowed with concern beneath a shock of reddish-blonde hair.
   “Yes, morphine is very powerful, more so when not needed. That’s how the addiction ensnared him before.” She stood, lifted the sheet, and folded it back to expose Evan’s left leg. “I had to cut his pants, strip it all off as one with the serape splint.”
   His knee was grotesquely swollen, already black and purple. Lumps in his lower leg twisted the skin with red streaks. His foot sat oddly. “What we must do to set the bones will be painful. I’d rather he not feel much.” She turned her head toward her brother-in-law. “Thank you for coming so quickly, Dylan. I’d never have been able to get him up the stairs or to the bed without you. And you’ve seen to the animals for me, brought the wood. Gracias.”
   Dylan nodded. “Not to worry. Good thing we put these bells at each house, isn’t it? Soon as I heard, I knew ’twas trouble over here.”
   Her small hands took the wooden slats Dylan handed her and set them beside Evan’s leg. Reyna talked as she worked. “He can’t keep doing everything alone, much as he prides himself on it. This whole area has too many dangerous places. Did you know we found another sinkhole in the south pasture? Those silver mines in Tombstone are flooding with water from under this ranch.”
   “Certain sure, that underground lake is terrible huge.” Dylan met her eye. “Reyna, I haven’t discussed this with Sarah or Evan, but we should seriously consider moving away from Tombstone. There’s too much trouble coming, I’m thinking. Don’t ask me how I–”
   “Dylan, you have vision many do not. Don’t hesitate to heed it.” Reyna took a deep breath. “Now, I need you to hold his thigh, with your full weight—whatever you hear, whatever happens, don’t let go till I say.”
   Dylan nodded as he positioned himself.
   “And for what it’s worth, I think you’re right about trouble coming. This town, this place has been nothing but heartbreak and pain.” Her hands palpated the distorted knee and in one quick motion forcefully pulled down and pushed in. Bone shifted with a sickening crunch.
   Evan groaned in his sleep and twisted to escape. Dylan fought to keep his grip as he held the thigh against the bed, his face a pale shade of cream tinged in green.
   “One down,” Reyna said, “two more to go. Once they’re all set as straight as possible, we splint it with wood. And hope.”