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...
