July 6, 2009
It started with a signal fire. Or, actually, it started with the painting of a signal fire this last weekend:

As I laid in the twilight washes around this lone fire in the middle of nowhere a plot sequence began to take shape in my mind. After the killing of Sheriff Reynolds, the Apache Kid had safely made his way to Mexico and was in hiding in the Sierra Madres when he received word that the love of his life, Beauty, had been cut by her abusive and jealous husband, Curly. The Kid made up his mind to go back and rescue her but he also knew the U.S. border was crawling with troops and scouts (led by Curly) anticipating this very move.

The Kid hatched a devious and clever plan. He easily stole a hacendado's favorite stallion, known for its speed and bottom, and headed north in plain sight. With the help of a young Yaqui boy, the Kid built a huge signal fire, just south of Naco, Mexico. Sending the boy to the west on the stolen horse as a diversion (he knew the Rurales and the U.S. troops stationed along the border would come investigate), the Kid, on foot, set off on a legendary run, crossing the border fifteen miles east of Naco, skirting the Mule Mountains, South Pass and into the Dragoons.

Running mostly at night and sleeping in the crevices of the tallest peaks by day, the Kid blasted past every patrol sent out against him. Several times, while crossing an open valley, he had to divert from his path to avoid the dust of riders coming his way. There's much more, but suffice to say that gave me plenty to work on this weekend. Worked on runners:

And more runners:

And even more runners:

The Kid arrives at San Carlos unmolested, but how will he ever get past the guards surrounding Beauty's wickiup? Time to do another painting.

"The essence of tragedy is the struggle of right against right. In a tragic struggle, the victors become the guilty and must make amends to the defeated."
—I.F. Stone