The Border Empire Read Online Free PDF Page B

the last man. It’s the only way I can be sure of killing the men who murdered my father.”
    â€œMadre de Dios,” said Maria, “there be many. Per’ap I help you.”
    Wes laughed. “You will walk naked into their midst with a loaded gun?”
    â€œThere be other way,” she said, ignoring his sarcasm. “When you have the look of a Mejicano, per’ap they not be so quick to kill you.”
    â€œThe look of a Mexican? How?”
    â€œI show you mañana ,” she said.

Old Mexico. June 29, 1884
    Upon arising, Maria had donned the baggy clothes. Wes started a breakfast fire, and when he had finished slicing bacon into the pan, Maria pointed to the knife.
    â€œCuchillo,” she said, holding out her hand. Having no idea as to what she had in mind, Wes handed her the knife. Without any explanation, she vanished into the woods, returning just before Wes had the bacon and the coffee ready. She returned his knife, and in one pocket of the shirt there was a quantity of reddish bark. Wes said nothing, and after they had eaten, Maria emptied the grounds from the coffeepot. Rinsing it thoroughly, she filled it with cold water and, stirring up the fire, put the pot on to boil. When it had begun to steam, she removed the lid and dropped all the shaved bark into the pot.
    â€œWhen it’s done,” Wes asked, “what’s that goin’ to be?”
    â€œI show you,” said Maria.
    When she judged it had boiled enough, Maria removed the pot from the fire. Removing the coffeepot’s lid, she allowed the mixture to cool. She then fished out the slivers of bark and placed the pot before Wes. The brew looked like strong coffee.
    â€œYou’re expectin’ me to drink that?” Wes asked.
    â€œPor Dios,” said the girl in disgust, “put the hand into it.”
    Gingerly, Wes dipped his left hand into the still-warm liquid, and when he withdrew it, the skin was as brown as Maria’s own.
    â€œThe hand of a Mejicano,” Maria said triumphantly. “Dip the other.”
    Wordlessly, Wes did so, with similar results.
    â€œYou like?” Maria asked.
    â€œLord, yes,” said Wes. “I can’t believe it.”
    Maria went to his bedroll, removed a blanket, and spread it on the ground.
    â€œThe clothes,” she said.
    â€œNo,” said Wes, getting her message.
    â€œThe clothes,” Maria said firmly, “or you be Americano. Muerto Americano.” 6
    Wes removed his hat, his gunbelt, his boots, and his socks. More slowly, he removed his shirt, and finally his Levis. She pointed to the blanket, and he stretched out on it. Into her cupped hand she poured some of the dark liquid, and starting with his already-stained hands, stained his arms all the way to his shoulders.
    â€œClose the eyes and the mouth,” she ordered.
    Beginning at the hairline, she worked the dark stain into his face, his ears, and the back of his neck, well below where the shirt collar would ride. She then worked the stain carefully into the skin around his mouth and the underside of his nose. His chin and throat got similar treatment, and she darkened his upper torso well below the collarbone. Finally she started with his feet, taking the stain all the way to his knees.
    â€œMore?” she asked, eyeing what remained of his still-pale skin.
    â€œNo,” said Wes hastily. “I’ll just have to be careful not to strip at the wrong time or place. How long will this stuff last?”
    â€œA week, per’ap,” Maria said. “You look.”
    He found a place where the water had eddied, and looked at himself.
    â€œTarnation,” he said, “I don’t believe it.”
    â€œYou already have the dark hair of a Mejicano,” said Maria.
    â€œI’m obliged,” Wes said. “What can I do for you in return? Where can I take you?”
    â€œI go with you,” she replied. “Remember, the Mejicano wears