The Map to Escondido

For the hundredth time that afternoon, Claire pushed aside the curtains and scanned the northern pasture. Calling it a pasture was mighty generous, considering it consisted of mostly dirt, rocks, and cacti. When she and Earle had first claimed the plot, he had big plans to build a farm and start raising some cattle. Their own little ramshackle paradise, just three miles outside Oatman, Arizona.

She shoved the curtains closed, pushing away thoughts of the last seven years.

If today went as planned, her dreams might finally have a chance to thrive. A garden, a home, a family. A decent life with her man.

If not, well, her daddy taught her that a frontier girl had to be tough as nails to survive in the West. Not only was she tough, but she could also read and ride and shoot. She’d find another way, assuming they survived.

Claire glanced at the shelf where Earle kept his whiskey. Just one jug left. Her normal scorn of the stuff was replaced by a warm appreciation. She was glad she hadn’t smashed it, as she’d done a thousand times in her imagination. Today it would be put to good use.

She scanned the horizon again. Nothing. The boys were supposed to be back hours ago. She twisted the corner of her apron between her hands and bit her lip.

Then, as quiet as a dusty, old tumbleweed tumbling across the yard, she heard faint, rhythmic hoofbeats in the distance. Three horses — one fewer than had left that morning — had come around the hill and were pounding sand straight for her little ramshackle house. Three riders, plus one suspiciously large sack slung over the leader’s rear.

Her heart froze. Was her man the one in the sack? She wiped away a tear and squinted. No. She recognized his mare, his hat, his boots. Her man was safe, thank god.

Claire stood, took a deep breath, and flattened out her apron. The first part of the day’s treachery was done, and now came another of even higher stakes. By the looks of it, Gordo’s men had dropped Cooper. His wife, Vivian, whom Claire sang with in the church choir, would be devastated when she found out. Still, Claire was relieved to see them slide his body into an empty garden box beside their little ramshackle barn. One less gun to argue over the day’s loot.

She’d spent all day preparing the drive stock, filling canteens, loading rifles. Once they shook the other two, she and her man would make for the loot and head straight for the coast.

Earle kicked the door open and stomped inside. Claire flew to him, threw her arms around his wide chest, and peppered his face with kisses.

“Oh, Earle! I thought you were dead! I can’t tell you how glad I am to see — ”

“Whiskey,” he said, shoving her away. “My tongue’s as dry as a rattler’s ass. Be a darlin’ and fetch us boys a round of whiskey.”

“I’ll take two,” Clayton said, pushing them aside as he tromped to the kitchen table.

Claire slugged him in the shoulder as he passed. “Mighty glad it wasn’t you in that sack.”

Clayton flung his boots up onto the table, lifted the brim of his hat, and arched his eyebrows. “That so, sis? Funny, I always thought you’d be the one to put me in one of those.”

“Shut your trap or I just might,” she said, then pushed his feet off the table. “Just because I’m relieved that Gordo’s men didn’t get you, doesn’t mean your filthy boots are allowed on my table.”

“Whiskey!” Earle pounded his fist. Claire jumped and scurried to the kitchen.

A lean, spectacled man appeared at the front door. It was Dr. Henry Boyle, the young Irish physician who’d arrived in Oatman last April.

“Horses are all tended to, fellas,” he said. Then, noticing Claire, he took off his hat and looked down at the floor. “Evening, Mrs. Downing. I’m s-s-sorry to say that Mr. Cooper didn’t make it. He took two to the b-back while we was — ”

“Stop stammerin’ Doc! You sound like a damn fool!” barked Clayton.

“He’s right,” Earle said, snatching the tall glass of brown liquid from Claire’s hand before she could set it down in front of him. “You may be able to shoot straight, Doc, but with a stutter like that, yer liable to bore us all to death.” He emptied the glass with one toss, slammed it down, and motioned to Claire. “Keep ’em coming.”

Clayton tossed a leather satchel onto the table. “Doc, you know the reason we let you in on this here job, and it ain’t your storytelling skills. Best get started on that translation if we’re gonna have enough time to loot Gordo’s stash before sundown.”

Doc nodded, slid a map from the satchel, and adjusted his round-rimmed classes. His pencil went to work, dancing between the map and his notebook.

“One of you fellas mind telling me what happened to Mr. Cooper?” Claire asked as she filled Clayton’s and Earle’s glasses a third time.

Earle took the whiskey slow this time. When he was done he set the glass down and fixed his gaze on an empty spot of the table.

“We got to the pass early. Me and Clay set up our rifles on the ridge. Doc and Cooper hid behind a pair of large boulders at the far end. Hell, we waited hours up there, baking in the goddamn sun. Finally — much later than Clay said we would — we saw Gordo’s posse ridin’ up.”

“I ain’t never claimed to be no goddamn fortune teller!” Clayton struck a match and lit a short brown stub.

“I ain’t said you was!” Earle hollered back. “Anyway, as I was sayin’, they rode south to the pass. Gordo’s lieutenant — the one charged with movin’ his stash — was comin’ with five men. Boy, did they come fast! Me and Clay barely had time to aim before they were in range. We took out the two riders in the front, nice and clean. Since we had multiple rifles, we didn’t lose time reloadin’ and we dropped two more before they even knew what hit ’em. Just like we planned.”

“Just like I planned,” Clayton said, spewing tobacco smoke into the air. “That’s when Clay and Cooper came around the corner, guns blazin’. Took ’em a few shots to drop those last two, seeing as how they ain’t too familiar with killin’. When it was done, Doc grabbed that,” he tapped the satchel, “and we hightailed it back here.”

Earle sighed. “Well, we started to. We was riding away when one of them dying beaners shot at us from the ground. We turned real fast to put him down for good, but it was too late. Coop took two bullets. Doc did what he could, but he was dead in minutes. Damn shame. Did I tell you to stop pourin’?” He raised an eyebrow at Claire, then turned to Doc, who was enthralled by the story. “And did I tell you to stop? We need that map translated into English, pronto! Once he realizes his posse’s gone missin’, Gordo’s gonna send every gun he has down to these parts. We gotta get his loot and get across the border before that happens, you hear?”

“Almost f-f-finished,” Doc said, licking his pencil. “This Spanish is sloppy, the map’s c-crude as hell — ”

“Then stop flappin’ your gums and get it done!” Clayton shouted.

Claire stood with the bottle at the ready. “So there were only five guns to protect his lieutenant? Seems kinda reckless for a notorious bandit like Gordo, don’t it? I sure am glad, but I can’t figure why he wouldn’t send more.”

“Leave the figurin’ to us men, and we’ll leave the whiskey pourin’ to you women,” Clayton said, slapping her on the ass. Claire felt years of silent pain burn in her belly and she considered hitting him over the head with the whiskey bottle. Instead, she took a deep breath and stuck with the plan. He’d get his soon enough.

Clayton leaned back and folded his hands across his lap. “Gordo’s as paranoid as they come. That’s the whole damn reason he was movin’ his stash in the first place. He was afraid too many of his men knew its location. I’d wager the five guns he sent to protect his lieutenant wouldn’t have lived to see tomorrow. That’s why the moment I caught wind of the move, and the map, I thinked up this little plan of ours.” He closed his eyes smugly and puffed on his stub.

“That’s if the Doc here ever finishes translatin’ the goddamn thing,” Earle complained.

“Done!” Doc said, putting his notes back in his bag and rolling the map out across the table. “Every last landmark, in plain old English. Here you can see his base of operations, named Trono — which means ‘throne’ in Spanish. Right there on the edge is what Gordo called Escondido, his stash. That’s where he’s hidden the gold.”

Clayton grabbed the map from Doc’s hand. “You sonovabitch! You did it!”

“Gimme that!” Earle said, snatching it from Clayton. “Escondido, here we come!”

“Now boys, be gentle with it! You wouldn’t tear a banknote would you? So don’t go tearin’ that map, which is worth more than all the banknotes in Oatman.” Claire took it from Earle, folded it neatly, and put it in the satchel. “The way I figure, we four are the only living souls who know the location of Escondido. How ‘bout one more round of drinks before you set out?”

“Right good idea, Claire,” boomed Earle. “And since Doc seems allergic to the whiskey you’ve been pouring him, get him a glass of my special bourbon.” He flashed a yellow grin at the other men.

Claire hesitated, wondering whether she could really go through with it. The map was ready. The game was on. She trusted her man more than anything in the world, so she mustered a smile and started toward the kitchen.

Three loud raps came from the front door. She stopped and peeked around the curtain.

“It’s the Sheriff!” she whispered.

Clayton got to his feet and drew his gun. Earle finished his whiskey, then joined him.

“Must’ve found Gordo’s men, tracked us back here,” he whispered. “I didn’t wanna kill no sheriff, but if it comes to that, well, then…”

“Put your guns away!” Doc strained to keep his voice low. “It’s too s-soon for anyone to have found the bodies. Besides, you think if the sheriff was coming to arrest us, he’d knock?”

Clayton and Earle looked at each other and put their guns away. There was another knock at the door.

“Earle Downing!” a voice called from outside. “This is Sheriff Wenton. Please open on up so I can have a word.”

“Clay, g-get in the bed!” Doc ordered, grabbing his bag and crouching beside the rickety cot just inside the adjoining room. “Claire, toss his hat aside, throw a blanket over him, and splash some water on his face. Yep, just like that. Now Earle, l-let the sheriff in and let me d-do the talking!”

Earle squinted suspiciously at the Doc, then, with his hand on his pistol, he turned and opened the door. Sheriff Wenton’s spurs clacked as he entered.

“Good afternoon, fellas. Ma’am.” The setting sun glinted off the golden star pinned to his chest. He scanned the room, his eyes moving to Clayton sweating under the blanket, then to Claire blotting his forehead with a damp cloth. “Sorry to intrude, but I’ve been makin’ the rounds to let people know that a small group of Gordo’s bandits have been seen in the area. Best stay inside this evening and keep an ear out for any trespassers ridin’ through your land. And have your guns ready, just in case they take to burglarin’.”

“Uh, thanks Sheriff,” Earle said, his voice shaking. “Mighty nice of you to let us know.”

Sheriff Wenton took a long, hard look at Earle’s face.

“Been drinkin’ already, Earle? Everything alright ‘round here?”

“Uh, yeah. No. I mean, yeah, everything is fine, Sheriff.”

“Who’s that in bed, there? That Clayton Picket?” The sheriff stuck his head into the bedroom.

“Yes, Sheriff,” the Doc said. He wiped his hands on a rag and popped his stethoscope from his ears. He aimed a grave look right into the sheriff’s eyes, then extended a hand to the front door. “Mind if I have a private word with you out on the porch?”

Sheriff Wenton took another peek at Clayton’s glistening face, then met Doc’s eyes again. He nodded and the two men stepped outside. Doc closed the door behind them.

Earle held an empty whiskey glass to it, then put his ear to the glass.

“That no-good Irishman’s gonna give us up, Earle!” Clayton whispered loudly from the bed. “He’s gonna blow the whole damn thing! Shoot ’em both through the door before it’s too late!”

“Shhh!” Earle waved a hand toward Clayton. “Doc’s explainin’ to the sheriff how a life of drinkin’ finally caught up with you. Says you came down with a real bad case of liver disease. Says he don’t want to scare the missus, but poor, sick Clay Pickett may only have a few days left to live.”

“That lying sonovabitch!” Clayton muttered.

“Shut your trap!” Earle hollered back as quietly as he could. “Listen to this! The Doc’s spinnin’ the perfect tale! Says that he’s thinkin’ of puttin’ you in the wagon and drivin’ the four of us down to the hospital in Carson City for emergency treatment. Says that if we up and disappear this week, that’ll be where we’ve gone. That Doc’s a genius! Now, the sheriff’s sayin’ he’ll keep the town folk from gossipin’ too much about where we’ve all gone to. He’ll even look in on the place while we’re out.”

“That Doc sure is a snake, ain’t he?” said Clayton. “Wouldn’ta thought he had it in him.”

Claire’s heart soared as she realized how Sheriff Wenton had become an unwitting accomplice. Then, noticing the evil glint in her brother’s eyes, her heart plummeted.

What if deception wasn’t enough? What if guns came out?

Claire remembered the special bourbon that Earle wanted the Doc to drink. She’d have to pour fast before Clayton had the chance to ruin their plans. None of them would dare shoot until the sheriff was well out of earshot, which meant she had a little time to keep the plan in motion.

The front door opened. Before the Doc could enter, Earle pulled him inside, slammed the door, and threw his meaty arms around his lean frame.

“Ha! Boy, you done well! You done real well!” Earle mussed up the Doc’s hair. “That was brilliant! How’d the hell’d you come up with a story like that so fast?”

Blushing, the Doc took a seat. “I read it in a b-b-book. A French mystery.”

“You read French, too? Damn, you’re one clever fella!” Earle slapped him on the back.

“Sure is,” Clayton said, throwing off his blanket.

“You know, Doc, while you were outside talkin’ circles ‘round ol’ Sheriff Wenton, Clayton and I came to a decision.”

“We did?”

“Yessir, we did,” Earle said. “We want you to have Coop’s share of the loot.”

“We do?” Clayton placed his hat back on his head and joined them.

“That’s right. Not only did you translate the map, but you also bought us an alibi. If that ain’t worth Coop’s share, I don’t know what is.”

“That’s m-mighty nice, Earle,” Doc said. “B-but we should split it three ways, like we talked about on the ride back from the pass.”

“You hear that, Clay? Smart and as humble as a man of the cloth. Claire, fetch us some more whiskey and pour the Doc some of that special bourbon of mine.”

As soon as the bourbon was mentioned, Clayton relaxed in his chair — which made Claire relax, too.

“That sure was smart thinkin’, Doc.” She said, barely able to conceal her joy. “The sheriff’ll cover for us in Oatman while we make our way out of here with the loot.”

“Dammit, Claire!” Earle pushed back his chair and glared into the kitchen. “You know how mad I get when I have to ask you for something twice.”

She knew. If her brother’s filth wasn’t enough to keep her from touching her rickety bed again, the ghost of a hundred nights with Earle was. “Pain or pleasure. Your choice,” he’d say, pointing to the bed, a bottle of whiskey sloshing around in his belly. Never again.

She uncorked his special bourbon and filled a small glass. She set it down in front of the Doc, careful not to look at him, then she refilled the other glasses.

Earle took his glass and held it high, motioning for the other two to follow. Doc lifted his and smiled dumbly, while Clayton glared around his glass at the Doc. Claire pretended to tidy up the kitchen.

“Here’s to Doc, for translatin’ and wranglin’ the Sheriff,” Earle announced. “And to Clayton, for always listenin’ for opportunity when it comes a knockin’.”

“Fuck you, too, Earle,” Clayton said with a grin.

“And finally, to the notorious Gordo Bandito! He spent all those years stealin’ gold and pilin’ it high, just for us. Escondido, here we come!” Earle emptied the glass in one gulp.

Clayton followed, never taking his eyes off the Doc. “Go on, Doc. Whatter you waitin’ for? Drink up.”

Doc looked at the two men, smiled, and slammed the bourbon. His eyes went big and his face turned red.

“D-dang, fellas, that’s some strong b-bourbon!” he cried.

Earle and Clayton laughed in unison. “Sure is, Doc. Goes right to the head.”

“Say, what’s that undertone I taste? Is that l-l-licorice?” Doc asked, smacking his lips.

“Nope,” Earle said, motioning for more whiskey.

“Sasparilla?”

“Wrong again.”

Clayton cleared his throat and leaned forward, a devilish grin on his face. “What? A college-educated fella like you never tasted larkspur before?”

Doc looked astonished. “B-b-but, larkspur is toxic. Why’d you make your special bourbon with…” He trailed off as his eyes found Earle’s. “You mean? Shit. But you p-promised me Coop’s share of the loot! Why, you no-good, stinkin’ — ”

Doc tried to stand, but his legs failed him. He hit the floor hard and tried scrambling for the door. Foam bubbled up from his lips. After a few seconds of twitching and writhing on the dusty wood floor, his eyes closed and he went still.

Claire couldn’t help but feel awful, even though she’d been preparing for this part of the plan for weeks. She’d been the one to gather and distill the larkspur. She’d been the one who’d measured it out and divided it accordingly.

“Well, Claire, looks like you finally earned your share of the loot,” Earle said, chuckling as he kicked the Doc’s limp body. “‘Bout time you did something useful around here. Now, why don’t you drag him out and put him in the garden box with Coop. We’ll drop them both of ’em off on our way outta town and let the vultures have ‘em.”

“You want me to drag him out there?”

He slapped her hard across the face. “What’d I say about asking you twice? Now go! Hurry!”

Claire put a hand to her stinging cheek and forced her tears back. She wouldn’t give him, nor her brutish brother, the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Not when she was so close to being rid of them forever.

Instead, she threw open the door, took the Doc by the wrists, and dragged him outside. Once she was clear of the door she was relieved — but not at all surprised — that his legs gave her a little help. When she got to the half-buried crate, which she’d hoped to one day use as a raised garden bed, she rolled him onto Cooper and tossed his bag on his chest.

Earle and Clayton tromped through the door as she approached. They glared at the sun, then at their horses.

“We best get going, if we’re gonna make it back to pick you up before nightfall,” Earle said.

“I’ll have the wagon ready for us,” Claire avoided eye contact with either of them. “And I’ll make room for the bodies. Everything’ll be ready to go when you get back.”

Clayton spit onto the porch and snickered. Earle elbowed him in stomach and tipped his hat to his wife.

“Alright, then. We’ll be seein’ you.”

When they’d planned the heist and the double-cross, the thought had crossed her mind that they might never return for her. Now, as she felt their greed for gold and whiskey and woman seething beneath their foul mustaches, she knew for sure they weren’t coming back. Which was just what she and her man had planned.

“Wait!” She ran back inside the house, then came out again with four canteens. “Two with water, and two with the last of the whiskey. Take it easy on the whiskey, boys! Don’t wanna pass out on the way there.”

They uncorked their canteens and sipped. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about us, sis,” Clayton hissed. “We men can handle our whiskey just fine.”

Without as much as a warm look back at her, they mounted their horses and rode off.

Claire sat on the porch watching, feeling her heart lighten as their silhouettes shrank in the distance. Once the last wisp of dust from their hoofbeats had vanished, she walked slowly to the wagon and checked the drive stock. They looked well-rested and ready to go.

She hopped up into the driver’s seat and took the reins. She picked a pebble from the seat and tossed it into the garden crate.

“I know you’re havin’ a good nap and all,” she called out, “but after all that, I need a smooch, you hear? Right now, mister!”

Doc stood up and brushed himself off, a huge grin plastered to his face.

“You were brilliant, darlin’!” he said, running to her side. He took her hand and kissed it. “I heard the slap from out here. Did that scoundrel hurt you?”

“Earle’s done much worse, trust me. And before him, Clayton did his share of knockin’ me around.” Her frown turned into a bashful smile. “Besides, who you calling a scoundrel, D-D-Doc?” she teased.

“The performance of a lifetime!” He hopped up onto the seat next to her. “Maybe I’ll turn a bar of gold into a theatre trophy and award it to myself. Speaking of accolades, how much larkspur did you put in their whiskey?”

“Three tablespoons each. I know you said two, but I couldn’t resist.”

“Three’s quite enough! I hope they can still read the map.” Doc laughed, shaking the reins and steering the wagon westward. “After all, I went through all that trouble of reversing the map’s destinations.”

“So, they’re really headed right for Trono?” Claire asked.

“That’s right,” Doc kissed her forehead, then her cheek.

“And you’re sure your notes are enough to get us to Escondido?”

“Of course they are! We’ll be there in a little over an hour — about the same time those two realize they’ve been had. Imagine how surprised they’ll be when Gordo and his men surround them. That is — if your larkspur hasn’t finished them off by then.”

“Either way, they’ll get what’s comin’ to ‘em,” she said, glancing one last time at the ramshackle little house where she’d spent the last seven years of her life.

“That’s right, darlin’,” Doc said, turning her face toward him and kissing her tenderly on the lips.

Claire slipped her arm around his, rested her head on his shoulder, and sighed. Twenty-seven years of suffering at the hands of brutes had made her tough as nails, but with Doc she could finally be soft again.

“Get some rest,” he said, stroking her head. “I’ll wake you when the gold bars need loadin’.”

She closed her eyes and dreamed — not of the treasure awaiting at Escondido, but of a lifetime with the man she loved.