Arroyo de la Muerte

by Frank Leslie

  John Clare Hopkins.

  My god, Julia, she reprimanded herself. What have you done? Rutting like some animal—in a barn, no less!

  Moving softly up the staircase, she felt heat rise in her cheeks, and her breasts swell. This time not with embarrassment or anything even close to shame but with that heady, almost ethereal feeling she’d always felt after making love with Yakima. She could still feel his lips pressing against hers, his hands cupping her breasts, his long, hard body toiling against her own.

  No one had ever made her feel the way Yakima did. Not Lon, god rest his lovely soul. No one. She had no doubt that John Clare Hopkins would pale in comparison. But what choice had she had but to accept his hand? Yakima was not hers. He would never be hers. He and her own sister had made that very clear. Her father had, as well. Even without those obstacles, Yakima was a stallion no mare could ever tame.

  At twenty-eight, Julia was running out of options. Like her father had told her, it was a harsh, cold world. It chewed up and spit out the feeble and impractical. She realized that now. It was only sensible to hitch her star to that of a man who could take care of her. It was a man’s world. She knew it was a cynical point of view, but she’d been optimistic and idealistic at one time, and life had done its best to beat such notions out of her…

  Still, she couldn’t help feeling him, Yakima…still smelling his raw, wild, manly odor…hear his guttural groans when he’d bucked up hard against her and spent himself inside her.

  “What am I going to do without you, Yakima?”

  She hadn’t realized she’d voiced the question aloud as she’d opened the Conquistador’s outside third-floor door, but now she heard her voice echo softly in the dim hall’s sarcophagal silence. She gave a slight gasp and closed a hand over her mouth, stifling a devilish laugh. She closed the door behind her, latching it very quietly and wincing when she heard the bolt click home, as if anyone else might hear it.

  Turning right, she headed off down the dark hall toward her room, relieved at having gotten this far without anyone noticing her silly display but also feeling a heavy sadness wash over her, knowing that the night she’d just spent in Yakima’s wild embrace would likely be her last.

  She stopped abruptly, heart quickening, when a door latch clicked just ahead and on her left. Her heart beat faster when a door opened and a man stepped out. The man’s figure was murky with shadows, but—oh, god, wasn’t that John Clare Hopkins’s room?

  Like a death knell, none other than Hopkins’s voice spoke from the shadows concealing his tall, slender figure, “Oh, there you are, darling!”

  Julia jerked backward with another, louder gasp, clapping her hand over her mouth once more. Her heart leaped so hard that she felt as though she’d been kicked by a horse.

  “What’s the matter?” Hopkins stepped out of the shadows and into the dim gray light angling through a window at the hall’s far end. “I’m sorry if I frightened you.”

  “Oh, John.” Her heart still racing, Julia lowered her hand. “Yes, uh…yes, you did…you gave me quite a start!” She closed her arms on his breasts with an instinctive effort to conceal the fact she wore nothing beneath the simple cambric house dress she’d worn over to the livery barn.

  She chuckled to try to cover her shock at seeing this very man in the hall—the last person in all the world she’d wanted to run into just now. But here he was. Why did she have the chill feeling that the meeting was possibly by design?

  The suspicion arose with the fact that he said nothing now but only stared at her, the gradually strengthening gray light touching his face but also casting part of it in shadow. It made one eye glisten eerily.

  “Did I catch you at a bad time?” he asked, his voice vaguely menacing.

  “What? No.” Awkward with self-consciousness, she raised her other arms and lay that hand against her neck. “I mean…what do you mean...?”

  “Where’ve you been, darling?” The toneless voice made her heart flutter.

  “I’ve been…” She frowned. He was fully dressed in his usual tony, carefully arranged garb, and he also wore a crisp black slouch hat. A cigar poked up from the pocket of his left lapel, beside a red silk kerchief thrusting up one sharply folded corner. “What’re you doing up so early, John?”

  She did not know him to be an early riser.

  “I asked you a question?” he said.

  She stopped breathing. That gray eye was hard and cold now. She’d never seen his eyes so cold. They’d always only regarded her with a vaguely amused appreciation and adoration. Some might call it obsequiousness. Now he looked not only angry but as though he were harboring a barely restrained rage.

  Julia couldn’t find her tongue.

  “Where’ve you been?” he asked again, his voice harder and quicker this time, as he took one stiff step forward.

  Then another step.

  Suddenly he was inches away from her. He grabbed her right arm, squeezing painfully. Her mind was slow to catch up to the sudden change in his character, to the fact of his fingers digging into her flesh while his eyes glared down at her sharply, furiously. He was like a dangerous stranger accosting her.

  “Don’t try to lie,” he said. “I know where you were.”

  “Ow…John…!”

  “I know you were with him. I had you followed. Half the town works for me. You can’t go anywhere without me knowing…knowing who you’re with. Yes, I had a man keeping an eye on you. He followed you over to the livery barn. He followed you inside. He…he heard what you were doing in the loft with that savage!”

  “John…” Her ears ringing, Julia was squirming, trying to loosen his burning grip on her arm. “Please…you’re…hurting me!”

  “You were coupling with that red-skinned heathen on the very night I’d asked you to be my wife!”

  “John…I know. Please…stop…I know…I couldn’t help myself. John…I’m sorry, but I love him!” She was sobbing now, staring up at the man glaring down at her, twisting her arm until her knees were buckling and she was sliding down the wall toward the floor.

  “John!”

  He released her arm and she dropped to the floor, curling her legs beneath her, crying, tears rolling down her cheeks. She’d never known such shame. Now she saw what she’d done in the barn for what it was.

  Betrayal.

  John Clare Hopkins crouched over her, shoving his enraged red face and blazing eyes up close to hers. She could smell brandy on his breath. He was drunk. She could see it in his eyes now, behind his fury. “You’re going to be sorry you didn’t give me more than a chance, Julia. Very sorry. Soon…very soon…you’re going to be very sorry.”

  He straightened, drew a deep breath, puffing out his chest and continuing to glare down at her. “And so will your father.” He stepped backward. “You’ll not see me again. I hope you rot…old and alone, running your little whores…in this squalid backwater!”

  He turned away then stopped, laughing. “Ah, here’s one now!”

  Julia peered through her tears around Hopkins’ back to see one of the girls—Marlene, a willowy blonde clad now in a thin cotton night dress—standing before him, looking up at him in silent astonishment and horror. She knew John Clare, of course. All the girls did, for he’d been a regular here at the Conquistador for months though Julia didn’t think he’d indulged in their pleasures. At least, if he did, she wasn’t aware of it. It would have been unseemly for her suitor to have lain with her doxies, though she certainly had no justification for blaming him. But now she realized she knew absolutely nothing about him.

  “What are you staring at, you silly little thing?” Hopkins suddenly barked at the girl, like a rabid wolf.

  Marlene lurched backward. She was holding two cups of coffee in her hands, but now the coffee in one cup splashed over the hand holding it, and she dropped it. The cup landed with a dull thud on the carpeted floor, the coffee splashing up against the wall.

  She glanced at Julia, and said, “I’m s-sorry…I wa
s just looking for Candace Jo…I didn’t mean…I didn’t mean to…”

  “Candace Jo?” asked Hopkins. He laughed again, jeeringly. “You’ll find her in my room.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at Julia, gave her a mocking wink, and then strolled off down the hall, swinging his arms and clapping his hands as though it were just another fine sunny day for a man to enjoy, as if nothing of what had just occurred in the hall had occurred at all.

  Marlene set down the other cup of coffee and dropped to a knee beside Julia, “Are you all right, Miss Julia? My god, I’ve never…seen him like that!”

  Julia pressed her hands to her face, rubbing away the tears, composing herself. “No,” she gulped. “I haven’t, either.”

  “What set him off?”

  “I did. It’s all my fault.”

  Marlene stared at her, bewildered. “What? I don’t…”

  Julia placed a hand on Marlene’s arm. “Check his room.”

  The look the man had given her when he’d winked had added a fresh chill to Julia’s bones.

  “Check his room,” she said again, pressing her fingers into Marlene’s arm, pulling herself to her feet, steadying herself with one hand on the wall, one hand on the girl’s arm.

  “What? Why?”

  “Just check his room…” Julia, speaking more to herself than to the young doxie, brushed past Marlene still gaping at her in shock, and strode over to the door of Hopkins’ room.

  Feeling a nettling apprehension see-saw inside her, making her hesitate with her hand on the doorknob, she finally twisted the knob. She shoved the door open. Frowning, she stepped into the large, opulently furnished suite—the grandest suite in the hotel. Thickening gray light angled through the two tall windows sheathed in long, green, gold-embroidered velvet drapes on the opposite wall.

  “Candace Jo…?” Julia said, looking around.

  Her gaze went to the bed abutting the papered wall on her left, and she gasped, closing a hand over her mouth.

  Chapter 20

  “What is it, Miss Julia?” asked Marlene, stepping into the room behind her.

  The young doxie followed Julia’s gaze. Marlene also gasped, drawing her shoulders up and sort of hunkering into herself, bringing a hand to her mouth. “Oh!”

  Stiff with horror, Julia moved forward until she was standing beside the bed, staring down at the naked young brown-haired doxie lying naked before her. Candace Jo’s throat was laid open from ear to ear. The bed around her head was awash in the dark crimson of fresh blood. The doxie’s eyes were open, and she appeared to still be staring in horror at the man who’d killed her.

  There were several cuts and bruises on her face where he’d beaten her. Julia remembered Candace Jo’s discolored eye… It had been him. It had been John Clare Hopkins taking out his frustration on the submissive young doxie, whom Hopkins must have paid extra to keep his and Candace’s trysts secret. He must have paid the poor girl enough that she’d been willing to overlook the man’s abuse.

  “That bastard,” Julia whispered into the hand she still held over her mouth.

  Behind her, Marlene sobbed.

  “That bastard,” Julia said again, a little louder but with the same disbelief as before. “How could he…?”

  But he had. That much was obvious. It was also obvious that John Clare Hopkins was a far different man than the one he’d revealed to Julia. Maybe Julia was different than the person she’d revealed to Hopkins, but she had not murdered an innocent young woman out of sheer spite!

  Rage began to mix with Julia’s horror and revulsion at what the man had done. She whipped around, turning to Marlene bawling quietly with her bowed head bobbing with emotion. She gently took the girl’s arm in her hand and led her into the hall, closing the door behind her.

  She didn’t know what to say to the girl. Hell, she didn’t know what to say to herself. Her mind was awash with mute fury. She left Marlene in the hall and strode quickly to the stairs, no longer caring that she wasn’t wearing anything beneath her simple house dress and cape, and that the fact was likely very obvious, especially when she descended the stairs so quickly and jarringly.

  Ivor Ingersoll was behind the bar, preparing one of the two coffee urns for the morning’s first breakfasters, one of which was coming through the front door as Julia was halfway down the stairs. “Good morning, Miss Julia. You’re up awful ear…”

  The man let his voice trail off when she saw how fast she was moving, with obvious purpose, and the severe expression on her face. Her long hair, still flecked with bits of hay from the loft, tumbled messily about her shoulders. Julia strode up past the bar, between the bar and the tables arranged along the saloon’s right wall…up to the front door, which the town barber, Wilfred Owen, held open for her, the Tucson newspaper tucked beneath his arm.

  “Good morning, Julia. And how are you this…” The barber also let the query die on his lips when he saw Julia’s obvious state of severe concentration and passionate focus.

  He stared at her, frowning, as she strode through the doorway as though a woman in a trance, her face pale, her fiery eyes narrowed. She moved down the veranda’s broad steps and into the street, looking around. The sun was on the rise now, and she shaded her eyes with one hand. There were only a few people on the street, which accepted the sun’s early, buttery glow, long shadows receding.

  The train had pulled into town last night, and the short combination lay down the street to the east, on her left, near the new the newly built depot station. The snub-nosed, coal-black engine had already been turned around; it now faced west, the direction it would return to when the train pulled out.

  Where was Hopkins? Why had he risen so early? What was he up to? Where was he going?

  Her fury roiling inside her, Julia continued to look around for the man who’d killed Candace Jo. The English bastard thought he could get away with anything because he had money, and with money came power, but Julia wanted to let him know that he could not. He would not get away with killing a defenseless young girl, even a whore, just to get back at Julia for betraying him.

  If only Yakima were here!

  He’d ridden out earlier, after he’d slowly dressed in the loft’s musky shadows. He’d ridden out to see her father about the man Yakima thought Hugh Kosgrove had sicced on him. Her anger shifted toward the handsome half-breed. Why was he not here now, when he needed her most? Only he could give John Clare Hopkins the licking the killer deserved!

  Julia heaved a deep, angry breath and angled across the street to the east, heading for the town marshal’s office. Yakima had left the Rio Grande Kid in charge. Julia naturally had some doubts about the Kid’s competence, but the older lawman would have to do. He’d fought off a whole horde of angry Chiricahuas only a few days ago, when he’d been transporting a prisoner from Tucson to Apache Springs, so maybe he was more capable than Julia had given him credit for.

  She lifted her skirts to cross the tracks and angled sharply left. As she neared the jailhouse, she also neared the train and saw that one of the few cars in the combination was a Wells Fargo Express car. Painted as black as the engine, it was larger than usual, and it appeared of a stouter construction than usual, as well. The only other cars were a passenger coach, a stock car, and the obligatory yellow caboose at the end. These other cars looked shabby by comparison to the well-endowed express car, obviously built for transporting great wealth.

  Giving the train only a passing glance, Julia marched up the jail office’s rickety wooden front steps. She rapped once on the door then flipped the latch and nudged it open. The big, older man known as the Rio Grande Kid jerked his head up from his chest with a startled grunt, nearly falling over backward in the chair that had once belonged to Julia’s now-deceased husband, Lon Taggart. “The Kid” dropped his mule-eared boots from where he’d had them crossed on the desk, to the floor, and reached for the old pistol holstered on his hip.

  He forestalled the movement when his wide, sleep-bleary eyes found Juli
a moving into the room, her jaws hard.

  The Kid removed his hand from the old pistol’s walnut grips, and said, “Oh, uh…Miss, uh…Miss Kosgr--”

  “You must arrest John Clare Hopkins!”

  “Wha—huh?” Leaning forward in his chair, the Kid blinked as though to clear his eyes. “Arrest who, ma’am?”

  “John Clare Hopkins!” Julia cried, almost sobbing again, so strong was the emotion triggering through her. “He…butchered…one of my girls!”

  “Mister Hopkins did?”

  “You must find him and arrest him…or shoot the son of a bitch!”

  The old man flinched a little then turned his head to look at her askance. Julia knew what he must be thinking. He must be wondering if the woman standing before him was really Julia and not her half-feral sister, Emma. She had to admit she was a little bewildered herself by her rather capable impersonation, and by how easily the words had flown from her lips on the wings of raw emotion.

  Vaguely, she opined that maybe she and Emma were more alike than either one of them had thought.

  “Shoot him?” said the Kid. “Now…why would I do that?”

  “I just told you. He killed one of my girls. Slit her throat from ear to ear!”

  “Are you sure it was Mister Hopkins?”

  “Yes. I found Candace Jo in Hopkins’s room.”

  “Oh. Boy.” The big, fleshy-faced, large-bellied man heaved himself out of the chair, making it creak as he did so. “Slit her throat, huh? You know the reason `he did it?”

  “Yes, but I’d just as soon not go into it. Now, will you please go after him, Depu…er, I mean, Marshal…” She scowled at him curiously. “What are we to call you now? Marshal Rio Grande Kid?”