Later that day, a breeze came up from the southwest, followed by big fluffy clouds moving rapidly overhead. “Stop awhile over these dry hills,” she said to them, though one look around told her something was wrong here. Too much taken away and not enough given back — the clouds avoided places where people showed no respect or love.
Distances were deceptive in the dry clear air but she had not counted on the broken rock or the steep incline of the trail. When they finally came down out of the mountains, she had finished off her water and the dogs’ water, and they were still a day and half or two days from water. The risk to herself and the dogs was worth it; these mountains would stop the fat man. To save her strength, she no longer bothered to double back to spy on the fat man’s progress after he followed her into the mountains; if he turned back now it was still too late for him.
The following day she figured the fat man was just about finished, but now she would be lucky to get herself and the dogs to water before they died. She and the dogs traveled much more slowly now, and they stopped to rest more often. The clouds still passed overhead in great woolly herds, though not as fast as before; in the shade with the dogs lying around her, Delena began to think about her comrades in the south; they fought the federal troops from ambush with sticks and rocks. What a difference repeating rifles would make!
She asked the ancestors for help to get her and the dogs safely to water now that they were back on the hot gravel plain. What a pity it would be to die here with so much money the people needed so desperately.
Big Candy made two days’ water last until the morning of the fourth day, when the trail descended out of the mountains onto the dry plain. He stood and gazed into the distance on the plain for a long time but saw no sign of water or even a mud hole left over from past rain. No water behind and no water ahead — the words repeated themselves to the rhythm of his feet on the trail. In the army he heard plenty of stories about those who choked on their tongues swollen out, blistered, and black; some thought the hallucinations of the dying gave them comfort in their last moments — they often raved as if they were bathing in cool water as they rolled on the ground and tried to swallow the sand. He intended to use the shotgun before that happened.
At night Big Candy woke himself again and again with dreams of water — icy glass pitchers of pure water, cascades of springs over rocks, topaz blue pools shaded by tall trees, even the muddy red Colorado water swirled around him so invitingly. Sometimes in the dreams he saw the tiny black baby near the water — it walked and moved as if it were grown up and it laughed at him but never spoke. Candy knew his meaning — the baby was alive and would live; he was the one who was going to die.
Before dawn he woke to the sound of a drum; it wasn’t his heartbeat, he was sure; he sat up and listened but heard nothing but the breeze over the rocks. When he laid his head down again he heard it distinctly — the drumming was underground. So this was how it begins, he thought, not at all as he imagined dying would be. Who were the drummers who came to accompany him? He drifted off to sleep again, where the little black baby stood at the edge of a clear fast-moving stream to gesture and jeer at him. You’re the one who’s almost dead, not me!
He woke crying but he had no tears; he failed the Sand Lizard girl when the baby was born — in Dahlia’s kitchen they always praised the tiny newborns, and spoke cheerfully to encourage them. Poor Sister! He let her down when the baby was born and now all the money she’d saved was gone too. He felt the need to urinate but was too weak and dizzy to stand up; he rolled over to one side, unbuttoned himself, but was able to make only a few drops of urine. His eyes would quit first, so he kept the shotgun right by his side.
Delena looked back at the mountains of grayish purple stone and wondered if the fat man turned back in time. As the sun moved overhead, she and the dogs crawled under the greasewoods for shade. She shook her canteen and listened to the last mouthful of water slosh inside; the big clouds moved slower today, their silver backs and bellies streaked blue-violet. Ancestors, she said, never mind about me; what about the others who are depending on me — hear their prayers!
That day months ago as she set out with her dogs on her mission, the old women and old men cried as they embraced her one by one; their task was to pray for her every day she was gone until she returned. Others prayed for their people fighting the federal troops, but her mission was so important, those assigned to pray for her had no other task but to bring her back safely with the rifles.
Now that the water was almost gone, the best strategy was to keep still in the shade; this trail across the dry plain wasn’t much traveled but someone — maybe prospectors — might happen along before death came. She always wondered how the cards would tell her about her own death; she shuffled them and began to lay them down: First the card that stood for her, the Guitar upside down. Useless for play — yes, that was her! Next the Flowerpot upside down on its flowers — yes, this was her situation all right! Even the saying that went with the Flowerpot was true: “The one born in a flowerpot doesn’t leave the hall”—beings that depend on water should not cross the dry plain. There it was! The Bell overturned, the third card, which represented the obstacle — death — that must be overcome. She had to smile; even at the end, the cards spoke truthfully.
She lay down the others. The Songbird upside down couldn’t make anyone’s heart sing, but the Rose upside down still was lovely; Mother of the Indians, Guadalupe, was still there. But then she turned up the Frog by a pool of water, followed by the Umbrella upside down to catch the rain, not shed it. Good to see the Frog, child of the rain, with the Umbrella, also a companion of the rain. The Drunkard card was upside down, so the liquor in the bottle poured into his mouth; the Heart was upright and its saying promised, “I will return.” The Apache card stood upright under the Sun card — the warrior strong and ready under the Sun, who is the protector of the poor. The overturned Bell was the truth — she faced death, but the other cards were her hope.
She glanced up at the sky at the clouds; they were no longer in such a hurry as they swelled and ascended into great pyramids and towers thousands of feet high.
“Oh you are beautiful!” Her throat was so dry her words made a croaking sound; all seven dogs feebly wagged their tails, mistaking the compliment for themselves. Poor dogs! Dumb to the end!
“My good soldiers!” she said and patted each one’s head before she removed their packs with the empty canteens and the cash bundled up in old rags. Let the poor dogs at least die in peace without burdens. She piled the bundles together. Far, far in the distance a coyote howled for rain, and one by one the dogs began to howl mournfully in reply. She knew it was their death song and hers too — no one would pass by on this trail in time to save them.
She opened each bundle to expose the stacks of currency and the silver and gold coins; as she did, the money-sniffer dog wagged her tail and laboriously got to her feet to press her nose against the stacks of bills. Besides her dogs, her most prized possessions were the decks of Mexican and Gypsy cards. She removed them from the cloth bag around her waist and laid both decks on top of the money.
She glanced up at the clouds again. She found it difficult to swallow now, and took the canteen with the last mouthful of water and sprinkled it over the dogs. She removed her dress and her shoes and placed them on the money pile, next to the decks of cards. This was all she possessed except her last breath and her body. Take it all, she told the sky.