Moving Serafina

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288 When Locket turned the mare down the steep slope into Arbolito Creek she balked, sidestepped into the loose shale but then finally acknowledged that someone firm was astride her and moved on down. The midday sun had borne down on them for several hours as they inquired without any results at first one lone house and then another, all at the end of rutted two-track dirt roads, and now, when the mare heard the stream, she stiff-legged more rapidly down to the ojito de agua, the little eye of water, trapped behind rocks at the bottom. “Easy,” Locket said. “I won’t put you where either one of us would get hurt.” He dismounted and loosed the bridle and took out the bit. “You’ll enjoy it more this way.” He slipped the reins over her neck and held them in one hand and then loosened the cinch and let her drink unencumbered. He crouched and with his other hand, brought up several cupped palms of water for himself. “Sure better’n that warm canteen stuff.” He stood and reached for the canteen, emptied the remainder onto the rocks and bent over to refill it. As it filled, he glanced down the cut to the little settlement of Redford some four miles south, the furrows of the C H A P T E R 30 MOVING SERAFINA 289 green onion fields serrated with glistening irrigation water from the Rio Grande. “No need to go down there,” he muttered and took in a deep breath. “Sheriff and every other lawman in the area’s already been there. Probably twice or three times.” The mare brought her head up, mouthed the cool water dripping from her muzzle and turned her head to him as if she agreed. “Why the hell am I telling you this?” Locket said but he admitted it felt good being horseback again. And he was no stranger at all to conversing with a horse. “Maybe it’s because you don’t argue, right?” The mare looked at him and then returned to her business of filling her gut. When she had her fill, Locket stood and allowed her to nibble at the few blades of grass that were teasing her along the edge of creek. “I don’t think we could have missed many,” he mused, remembering the houses where he had inquired today, all within easy reach of Arbolito Creek and no indication of an infant in any of them. At least, not one they would admit to having, not at their front door which was where he had usually been stopped. But he had seen no evidence around the burn barrels of clues to a baby either. “Gus said maybe a dozen or so. Said find those little sources of water and there’ll be a house there.” And then Locket reconsidered Gus’ words. He had not said just Arbolito Creek. He had said sources of water. Small springs. “Maybe we need to spread our circle a little,” Locket said. He stood and tightened the cinch a little, let the mare exhale the breath she had taken in to prevent a final tightening, and then he tugged it further. “Good Bob Cherry 290 trick but it won’t work on me,” he said. “Sorry. We ain’t done yet.” He replaced the bit and buckled the headstall. “You’ll get oats tonight,” he said and rubbed his hand along her neck and mounted. “Promise.” Locket knew well how high the heat could rise and dehydrate a person in this area, even in May. But he had not been out on horseback in a long while and so by four in the afternoon it had become almost unbearable, not only for himself, but also for the mare. He had moved several miles east of Arbolito Creek and as Gus had said, there were a few houses scattered in this area, some with children, but like the others today, none bore any positive clues to an infant. By six o’clock, he had decided to turn the mare back northwest toward Los Arbolitos. “Maybe we’ll try again tomorrow,” he said and then let the reins go slack, giving the mare her head. He knew she could find her stall better in the fading light than he could. “Or on the other hand, maybe we won’t. . . .” Once she had her head, the...