by Steve Hayes
Gabriel dismounted, tied the Morgan to a bush – something it didn’t like – collected his Winchester and followed Cerrildo through the trees.
It was almost dark now. Beyond the low bushes ahead of them Gabriel could see a row of tethered horses. His gaze shifted and he spotted the bandits gathered around a fire. All ages, most of them were swilling tequila and their conversation was constantly interrupted by loud, drunken laughter. Behind them was a wall of rock on which their shadows, distorted by the firelight, danced grotesquely.
Gabriel and Cerrildo closed in, close enough now to distinguish the bandits’ faces. Most were bearded, shabbily dressed and poorly armed. Many didn’t even have boots.
But there was no sign of Ellen.
Frustrated, Gabriel was about to suggest they pull back when he heard a scream. It was a woman’s scream and as Gabriel and Cerrildo looked, three bandits dragged someone out from behind the horses. The captive kicked and struggled to break loose. Her outer garments were badly torn, she was barefoot and there were scratches on her arms and legs.
Gabriel couldn’t see her face, but he knew by the shortness of her pale hair that it was Ellen!
Rage flared through him. Forgetting caution, he was about to open fire on the bandits when Cerrildo pulled his rifle down.
Indicating his bow, the Indian mimed for Gabriel to let him shoot a few bandits first, lessening the odds, and then start firing.
Calming, Gabriel nodded.
Cerrildo drew an arrow back, aimed and loosed the shaft. A man at the fire silently fell forward. A second followed before anyone realized the first was dead. Cerrildo went to shoot again but at that moment, behind them, the stallion mistook a fallen branch for a snake. Panicking, it reared up, neighing shrilly.
The bandits whirled around, grabbing up their weapons. Any chance of surprise was gone.
Silently cursing the Morgan, Gabriel opened fire at the bandits holding Ellen. Two went down. But the third was smart enough to pull her in front of him like a shield forcing Gabriel to hold his fire.
He watched helplessly as the man dragged her behind a rock.
On the other side of the fire the row of panicked horses broke loose from the tie-line and scattered in all directions.
Meanwhile, Cerrildo’s arrows brought down two more bandits. But the remainder took cover, firing wildly into the brush.
‘Here,’ Gabriel tossed his rifle to Cerrildo. ‘Keep ’em pinned down.’ Ducking low, he ran through the brush toward Ellen.
Cerrildo fired until the Winchester was empty. He then dropped it and quickly started shooting arrows at the four bandits.
The bandit holding Ellen was facing Cerrildo and didn’t see Gabriel coming until the last moment. He desperately swung his pistol around to shoot, but he was too late. Gabriel had already fired. The .45 slug slammed into the bandit’s chest, sending him stumbling backward.
Gabriel grabbed Ellen and pulled her down behind the rock. About to ask her if she was all right, he saw by her vacant stare that she was in shock. He gently put his arm around her. She cringed and didn’t seem to recognize him.
‘Ellie … Ellie, it’s me, Gabe….’
For a second she didn’t respond. Then recognition replaced the terror in her eyes and she moved her lips, murmuring something he couldn’t hear.
Reassuring her with a smile, he told her to keep down, and peered over the rock in time to see the last three bandits rushing at Cerrildo.
Out of arrows, the slender Indian knocked the first bandit down with a swipe of his bow, then drew his knife and leaped at the other two.
Gabe shot one of them in the neck, dropping him instantly. He then shot the first bandit, just as the fallen man started to get up.
Meanwhile, Cerrildo and the last bandit grappled on the ground. A shot rang out. Cerrildo stiffened then plunged his knife in the bandit’s chest. The Mexican died trying to pull it out.
Grasping Ellen’s hand, Gabriel led her over to Cerrildo. The Indian was gut-shot and sat there holding his belly, blood seeping through his fingers.
Gabriel gently pried his hands aside, took one look at the wound and knew it was over.
Cerrildo knew it, too. He smiled as he saw Ellen was safe and nodded as if satisfied. Then he leaned back against a rock and silently prayed to his God.
He was dead within moments.
Gabriel, surprised by how quickly he’d died from a belly wound, sadly closed Cerrildo’s eyelids. It was then that he noticed the blood on the Indian’s shirt, and realized he’d also been shot in the chest.
Moved by Cerrildo’s courage, and at the same time enraged by the injustice of it all, Gabriel picked up the body and carried it to a small clearing among the trees.
Ellen came with him, less fearful now that the fighting had stopped. She watched silently as Gabriel dug a shallow grave with his knife, placed the body in it and then covered it with dirt and rocks.
‘Be fittin’ if you spoke over him,’ he told her.
She hesitated, as if not understanding him.
‘Never mind,’ Gabriel said. ‘I’ll do it.’
‘No,’ she said, the first audible words she’d actually spoken. ‘He died because of me. I must pray for him.’ Kneeling, she clasped her hands together and prayed over the grave.
When she was finished Gabriel helped her up. Together they started back along the trail. He started to ask her if she was all right, but she cut him off and told him not to question her about what happened. She did not want to talk about it. Tears filled her eyes as she spoke, and he didn’t press her further.
A little later they came upon the Morgan. It stood near the bush it had been tied to, a broken branch still caught in the dangling reins.
Gabriel felt like shooting it. The stallion seemed to sense it had done something wrong. Trembling, it made no effort to bite or shy away as Gabriel took his shirt from the saddlebag and gave it to Ellen. Before she would put it on, she asked him for water. He gave her his canteen but instead of drinking, she poured water on her legs and groin and washed the blood away.
‘Why are you angry with him?’ she asked Gabriel as she buttoned on the shirt. When he explained that if the horse hadn’t neighed, he and Cerrildo would probably have killed all the bandits without either of them getting shot, Ellen disagreed.
‘It was his time to join God,’ she said simply. ‘Nothing could change that.’
‘If that’s true, how do you know it’s not Brandy’s time, too?’ Drawing his Colt, Gabriel held it against the Morgan’s head. ‘All it would take is a twitch of my finger.’
‘Because that wouldn’t be a random bullet,’ she said. ‘Besides, hasn’t there been enough killing?’
He knew she was right. He holstered his gun, untied his blanket and wrapped it around Ellen, saying it would lessen the chafing. He then stepped into the saddle, pulled her up behind him and dug his spurs into the stallion.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
With Ellen clinging tightly to him, they rode out of the hills in silence, following the trail as it sloped gently down into the desert. Clouds covered the moon and Gabriel decided it was dark enough to make camp for the night. Ahead, several large boulders formed a half-circle, offering them shelter from the wind. Gabriel dismounted close to the largest rock and helped Ellen down. Then he unsaddled the Morgan and turned it loose. It ran off into the darkness as if ashamed of itself.
‘Aren’t you afraid he won’t come back?’ Ellen asked as Gabriel spread out his bedroll for her.
‘My luck ain’t that good,’ he said, only half-joking.
She looked at him and shook her head. ‘You’re a strange man, Gabriel Moonlight.’
‘Why? ’Cause I’m not in love with my horse?’
‘I – I’m not saying you have to love him. But surely it would be helpful if you liked him. I mean, you spend so much time together.’
‘A cowboy an’ his faithful pony … roamin’ the land together … partners to the end … that kinda thing?’
‘Well, yes, I—’
‘Responsible for each other’s well-bein’?’
‘Exactly.’
He gave a disgusted snort.
‘Eyewash.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘That’s Easterners talkin’. Only thing they know ’bout the West is what they read. Book-writers, now they’re paid to keep the dream goin’. Always paint pretty pictures when they write about a cowboy an’ his pony. Give the horses romantic names like Ol’ Brown or Sandy or Paint, an’ call the men Shorty or Smokey or Sugarfoot – make it seem like they all get up and kiss every mornin’.’
‘You don’t have to be sarcastic—’
‘Truth is,’ Gabriel continued, ‘most trail hands I ever mixed with would’ve traded their horse for the price of a thick steak.’
‘Oh, I don’t believe that. Not for a second.’
‘Been on many cattle drives, have you?’
‘N-No, of course I haven’t.’
‘Mostly, cowboys don’t even know which mount they’re drawin’ from the remuda – an’ wouldn’t give two damns if they did. As for bein’ responsible,’ he added, ‘that’s only true regardin’ stable horses. They’ve been sugar-treated an’ need lookin’ after. Brandy, now, he may look like he belongs in a stall but that ain’t his mentality. He can carry his own water an’ neither of us would have it any other way.’
She’d never realized he could be so rude or cynical.
‘If you dislike him so much, why don’t you sell him and buy another?’
‘ ’Cause I’m not stupid. Brandy’s the finest horse I’ll ever own. An’ I’d have to have salt for brains to get rid of him. ’Sides, you don’t have to like somethin’ to know its worth, Ellie. You just have to respect it. That’s enough.’ He knew he was being rude, even mean-spirited, but he couldn’t help himself: he had to somehow rid himself of the anger he felt over losing Cerrildo.
As if to make up for it, he made a pillow out of his saddle for her, and gave her a handful of dried maize.
‘Munch on this and then drink a little water. It’ll take the bite off your hunger.’
‘Dare we light a fire? I’m f-freezing.’
‘A small one, maybe.’ He drew his Colt, thumbed the cylinder so that there was a cartridge under the hammer and offered it to her.
She shrank back. ‘No, I don’t want it.’
‘Suit yourself. But remember, a gun saved your life tonight.’ He strode off into the darkness before she could say anything.
Alone, Ellen felt all her fears returning. She regretted not going with Gabriel and sat there straining to hear the slightest noise. Her flesh crawled. She could still feel the bandits’ hands pawing at her, tearing away her clothes, and throwing her to the ground; feel the weight of their bodies; hear their drunken laughter; smell their foul breath lingering in her nostrils.
‘Oh God,’ she sobbed. ‘Dear God, why did you forsake me?’ He did not forsake you, her conscience reminded her. It was you who chose to forsake him. You reneged on your vow to serve him in order to seek revenge, to take up the sword against three of his children. Is it any wonder you are being punished?
A noise startled her, and she had to fight not to cry out.
But it was only the stallion, blacker than the night, standing in front of her. Its eyes glinted in the darkness. It watched her for a few moments, as if trying to understand what she was doing. Then it lowered its head and pushed its velvety soft nose against her cheek.
There was something wonderfully comforting in its touch and Ellen held the nose close to her, wetting it with her tears.
At last the Morgan snuffled softly, then pulled back, tossed its head and melted into the night.
Backs to the darkness the two of them sat by the crackling fire, warming their hands and watching the flickering flames vanish into thin air like the fingers of a ghostly shaman.
For a long time they didn’t talk, content to just sit there, close together, minds churning, wind moaning in their ears.
Then, ‘Thank you,’ she whispered suddenly.
‘Don’t heap credit on me,’ Gabriel said. ‘Cerrildo, he’s the one who deserves it. Without him I’d still be combing the hills for you.’
‘I didn’t mean for rescuing me – I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that, you or Cerrildo. I meant for not making me ride one of their horses.’
He frowned at her. ‘Thought you weren’t gonna talk about that?’
‘I’m not.’ She shivered, but from recent memories, not the cold. ‘They killed Miguel, you know. Shot your pistol out of his hand, threw a rope over him and pulled him off the wagon. Then one of them dragged him around behind his horse while the others shot him, kept shooting him, shooting and laughing, even after he was dead—’
He stopped her and pulled her close.
‘Torturin’ yourself isn’t the answer.’
‘I know. And I don’t want to talk about it. Or even think about it. Ever. But, you see, I have to. Awful as it was, I just have to. If I don’t, I’ll explode.’
‘Then at least get some rest first. In the mornin’, while we’re ridin’, if you still feel like it, you can tell me all about it.’
‘Yes,’ she said distantly, ‘in the morning. I’ll feel better then.’
For a few moments she was silent, her gaze fixed on the flames, then she blurted: ‘After they killed Miguel, I thought they were going to shoot me too. So I offered them the gold. I know I shouldn’t have,’ she said seeing Gabriel’s frown. ‘I mean, I know you told me not to tell anyone I had any gold but, well, I was so frightened that I … I thought perhaps if I gave it to them they’d be so happy and grateful they’d let me go. But of course they didn’t. They, the one, the leader I mean, forced me to mount up behind him and then he and the rest of them, we all rode up into the hills and … Oh God, dear God,’ she said covering her face with her hands, ‘you’re right, I mustn’t talk about this, I must try to forget it, to pretend that it never happened … but of course I can’t, I never will … never ever….’ She broke off, sobbing.
He held her in his arms all night. The rage he felt for the bandits, for what they had done to Ellen and Cerrildo, kept him warm long after the fire died.
It also made him realize what he had to do next.
And strangely, once he knew, saw it clearly and accepted it, realizing at the same time that fate had planned this outcome all along for him, his rage left him and he lost all fear of hanging.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The following dawn, while it was still cool and the heavens ablaze with color, they ate the last of the maize, took a few sips of water, and rode slowly toward San Dimas.
Knowing he was risking his neck if he ran into the Rurales, Gabriel considered skirting the sleepy pueblo and taking their chances with the desert: a sixty-mile stretch of burning desolation that had to be crossed in order to reach the American border. Like the desert south-west of San Dimas it too was known as Viaje del Muerto. Thinking about it Gabriel doubted if Ellen could make it all the way across. He doubted if Brandy could either, since even the indomitable Morgan was showing signs of tiring under its double load.
No, he thought resignedly, it had to be San Dimas.
They rode on, now able to see the familiar church bell tower above the whitewashed adobe buildings in the distance.
It was time, Gabriel realized, to tell Ellen about the potential trouble that lay ahead. Keeping his tone casual so as not to alarm her, he explained about his run-in with Captain Morales.
She fooled him; as if accustomed to confrontations with the law, she calmly assured him that he hadn’t a thing to worry about. All she had to do was tell Captain Morales that it was bandits who killed Miguel and kidnapped her, and Gabriel would be exonerated.
He wasn’t so sure. He knew that he had sorely damaged the captain’s machismo by knocking him on his ass in front of his men, and guessed the arrogant officer would need to prove he had bigger cojones than a re
negade gringo gunman.
‘Nonsense,’ Ellen said when Gabriel told her about his problem. ‘When I spoke to him he seemed like a most understanding gentleman. I was quite taken with him in fact. I’m sure when he hears the truth – especially after all I’ve been through – he’ll happily overlook your transgressions.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ Gabriel said. ‘ ’Cause I don’t intend to let that Mexican rooster lock me in the calabozo a second time.’
San Dimas was too small to keep a secret. Everyone had heard about Gabriel’s run-in with the Rurales and was surprised to see him ride into town; especially with the gringo woman, she of the strange hairless head, who they thought had been killed along with her driver.
‘We’re drawing quite a crowd,’ Ellen said to Gabriel as they were escorted through the streets by an ever-increasing number of curious townspeople.
He nodded grimly. ‘So much for slippin’ in an’ out of here without a fuss.’
Ellen smiled at the upturned brown faces trotting alongside them.
‘They probably heard I’d been killed and are surprised to see me alive. Either that or it’s my hair. I must look like a scalped monkey to them.’
Crossing the sunbaked plaza, Gabriel reined up in front of the livery stable. The same young hostler was already waiting for them in the doorway, anxious to be a part of this spectacle.
Gabriel dismounted and helped Ellen down. Then he told the hostler to feed and water the Morgan. ‘We also need a horse. Know any for sale?’
‘Sí, señor. I know of a very fine horse. It belongs to my uncle.’
‘I just bet it does,’ Gabriel said sourly. ‘Well, ’long as it’s got four legs, send one of your cousins to get it.’ He thumbed at the crowd still gathered outside the stable.
‘Sí, señor. It will be here when you return.’
Gabriel led Ellen who, despite the intense heat, still had the blanket wrapped around her, to a little dress shop five doors down on the same side of the dirt street. There he bought her a skirt and blouse and a black, wide-brimmed felt hat that made her look like a Navaho. The entire purchase took only a few minutes and Ellen donned everything quickly while Gabriel stood at the window and watched for any sign of the Rurales.