The Man from Stone Creek

by Linda Lael Miller

  Vierra caught his breath.

  Sam watched helplessly as the man took one of the bridles from the pile of tack, tossed it expertly over the horse’s head and led the unnamed gelding into plain view.

  “This is a fine animal,” the outlaw said. “It would be a shame to put a bullet through its head.” He drew the pistol again and jabbed the barrel up under the gelding’s throat. “I’ll do it, though, if you don’t let us have that gold.”

  Sam wanted to close his eyes, but out of respect for the horse, he didn’t.

  “They say horse meat is tasty,” the leader went on. “I guess we could butcher and roast him right here. I’ve got the fire going already.”

  Sam broke out in a sweat and his gorge rose into the back of his throat. He could shoot the bastards, probably hit all four of them, but the horse would still be dead.

  “You can have the gold!” Vierra shouted suddenly.

  Sam slanted a glance at his companion, at once confounded and deeply relieved. “How do we know they won’t shoot the horse anyway?” he rasped.

  “We don’t,” Vierra answered. “But they’ll do it for sure, the way things stand.” He went for the strongbox, tried with a mighty effort to lift it, and failed. Looked at Sam with exasperated impatience.

  “Hold on!” Sam yelled through the window. “We’ll throw the gold out the door at the end of car. Just remember that we’ve got guns, and plenty of bullets, and we won’t hesitate to drop any or all of you in your boot tracks if any harm comes to either of those horses!”

  “I knew we could come to a reasonable agreement,” the leader said cheerfully. To show goodwill, he released the gelding and swatted it on the flanks to send it trotting, reins dangling, back to its grazing place.

  Sam and Vierra each took one end of the strongbox by its rope handles, lugged it to the end of the car, and flung it through the open door. It landed with a splash in the river and sank a foot or so to the bottom.

  The leader, Rex Donagher and the fourth man waded in to fetch it, while Landry stayed back. Every once in a while, he gave a strangled wail of pain and residual fury.

  Hoisting that strongbox out of the water was a Herculean task, even for three men, since all of them kept a pistol at the ready, leaving only one hand free for the effort. They managed it, though, while Sam andVierra watched, crouching near the door and careful to stay out of the line of fire.

  “We thank you kindly,” the leader said when they’d regained the shore with the spoils and Sam and Vierra had gone back to their former posts at the windows. The murdering thief didn’t bother to search the pockets of the slain federales for a key to the strongbox. A bullet served the same purpose.

  “¡Madre de Dios,” Vierra whispered when the lid of the small trunk was raised. Maybe he was expecting the gold to be lying in there loose, gleaming in the scant and intermittent moonlight, like pirate’s treasure, but it was in bags, as Sam had known it would be. The heavy cloth sacks rattled musically as the boss doled out four to each man, with orders to put them in their saddlebags, and kept at least twice that many for himself.

  “The weight of it ought to slow them down,” Sam mused, pistol in hand. Conscience aside, if any of them raised a hand to his horse, he’d put a bullet through them without so much as a blink.

  “Donagher will probably leave a nice trail of blood for us to follow, too,” Vierra added.

  “They’ll kill him if he proves to be deadweight, and Rex, too, since he’s likely to put up a fight,” Sam said.

  The outlaws mounted up and the two able men rode back up the ravine trail without a backward glance. In the flickering light of the fire lit for horse-roasting, Sam watched as Rex helped a moaning Landry into the saddle, where he bent low over the pommel.

  Rex rode to the water’s edge, facing the railroad car. “I don’t know which one of you done this to Landry,” he called, “but I’ll kill you for it, after you’ve suffered a while first. Kill both of you, just to make sure I got the right one.”

  “It ain’t true what they said about Pa and Garrett,” Landry said, choking out the words as though they were little wads of barbed wire. “It ain’t true, is it, Rex?”

  “It’s true, all right,” Sam replied. “And I wouldn’t give two whoops in hell for your chances, either, now that you’ve become a liability. Throw down your guns and turn yourselves in, and you might live to see the sunrise.”

  Rex spat for an answer, leaned to grip the reins of his brother’s horse and made for the steep trail the others had taken.

  Vierra started for the door, but Sam grabbed hold of his arm and held him back.

  “You’ll be no good to Pilar draped over the back of your horse with your head in a sack,” Sam said.

  Vierra, who had stiffened to shake loose, stood still instead. “You’re right,” he said grudgingly. “The boss and his sidekick are probably waiting up there to pick us off as soon as we set foot outside this car.”

  “Once Landry and Rex catch up,” Sam told him, “they’ll ride on in a hurry. For now, though, I’d just as soon not make a target of myself.”

  Vierra gave a great sigh and sank onto one of the other seats. He took a few moments settling himself, and then his grin flashed in the dark.

  “So,” he began, “who is the lovely lady who came in on the Wednesday afternoon stage?”

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTEEN

  VIOLET LAY CURLED at the foot of the narrow bed, a small, fusty ball of sorrow and pride, felled by utter exhaustion and the hasty supper Maddie had patched together after she got back from the mercantile. Hittie, too, was asleep, though fitfully so, tossing and turning, whimpering as she dreamed.

  And still the oak tree searched the roof with its many twisted fingers.

  Maddie kept her helpless vigil seated on an upended crate, dragged over to the bedside from the door-and-sawhorse table, her chin propped in her hands. If the Perkinses had owned a timepiece, she might have taken some comfort in the rhythmic ticking, pushing the night along, from second to second, but there was none.

  Dawn was just breaking when she heard riders in the dooryard and got up to open the door. The neighbor she’d sent across the river to fetch the doctor was just reining toward home, while a squat man carrying a physician’s kit climbed wearily down from the back of a burro.

  Maddie’s tired heart swelled with relief. She hadn’t dared to consider the distinct possibility that the doctor would refuse to come. Folks in Haven rarely summoned him, preferring the services of a white man from Tombstone or Tucson, and when desperation forced their hand, received Dr. Emilio Sanchez coolly.

  Going out to greet him, Maddie was conscious of her crumpled dress and tumbledown hair. “Dr. Sanchez,” she said. “Thank you for coming.”

  He merely nodded, assessing the odd little house and the skinny chickens already pecking the sparse ground outside their coop as he started toward the open door.

  Maddie was just turning to follow him when she saw Abigail Blackstone approaching purposefully from the direction of the schoolhouse. Miss Blackstone’s tidy hair and neat sprigged muslin dress made an unsettling contrast to Maddie’s general dishevelment, and it shamed her how glad she was that no one was here to make a comparison between the two.

  “You’re out early,” Maddie said, and tried to smile.

  “You must be Maddie Chancelor,” Miss Blackstone said. Her eyes were kind, with a note of deep sadness in them, but they took Maddie’s measure just the same.

  Maddie nodded. “And you’re Abigail Blackstone.”

  “Yes,” Abigail said, and moved to stroke the doctor’s burro, standing nearby.

  “There is sickness here,” Maddie told the other woman. “It might be best to keep your distance.”

  Abigail turned her head, regarded Maddie with one eyebrow raised and her hand resting lightly on the burro’s shaggy neck. “Whatever it is,” she said quietly, “I’ve either had it already or nursed someone who did. I came to offer my help, if you’ll t
ake it.”

  Maddie swallowed. She couldn’t have said what she’d expected from this unknown woman, but it hadn’t been this quiet, competent generosity of spirit. “I guess word got around pretty fast,” she said.

  Abigail smiled, though her eyes were still pensive, even somber. “Your brother came knocking on my door as soon as it was light. He’s worried that you’ll take sick.”

  Maddie felt a pinch of concern. She wasn’t ready to think about the things Terran had said about Violet and her mother the night before, or the way he’d acted. Still, he was her only blood relation and just a boy, and he and Ben had been alone at the mercantile all night long, probably scared. She needed to see him, know that he was safe.

  She nodded, more to confirm her own thoughts than Abigail’s remark. “I’ll wait to see what Dr. Sanchez says, then go on back to the store.” She wanted to ask about Sam O’Ballivan—oh, she had so many questions about Sam O’Ballivan—but she was too proud.

  Abigail must have guessed her thoughts. “We don’t have to be enemies, Maddie,” she said.

  Maddie had been about to turn and lead the way into the cabin, but Abigail’s words stopped her. “Enemies?” she echoed, but she knew all too well that the other woman was referring to Sam. Some things didn’t have to be spoken out loud to be understood.

  Miss Blackstone merely smiled. “He’s a wonderful man. I can’t blame you if you’re taken with him.”

  Maddie started to protest, stopped herself and tried again. “I’m not ‘taken’ with Mr. O’Ballivan,” she said. She’d spoken truthfully. Why did the words sour like a lie on her tongue?

  “I wish I believed you,” Abigail reflected with a small sigh. For the next few moments she regarded Maddie with thoughtful intensity. “But you don’t even believe yourself, do you?”

  “Nothing has happened between Sam and me,” Maddie said. At least, that was the truth. He’d never made any sort of overture, romantic or otherwise. It was the way she felt in his presence, or when she thought of him, especially late at night, that worried her.

  “Some things,” Abigail observed, “happen on the inside, where no one can see.”

  Maddie didn’t respond, but the idea of Sam loving Abigail Blackstone or any other woman left a bruise on her spirit. From the first day she’d met him, she’d known he was just passing through, and so ignored the fact that her heart seemed to lean toward him, somehow. Now he’d installed Miss Blackstone in his room behind the schoolhouse, and that said all there was to say.

  “Go look after your brother,” Abigail said. “I’ll take over here and send word if there’s any change.”

  Maddie hesitated, glanced toward the shack and saw Violet watching from the doorway. The child looked so small, and so forlorn, standing there in the dress Sam had bought for her. Maddie approached, while Abigail held back.

  “Who’s that lady?” Violet whispered suspiciously.

  “That’s Miss Blackstone,” Maddie replied. “She’s come to look after you and your mother for a while, so I can see to Terran and Ben and make sure things are all right at the store.”

  A tremor moved visibly through Violet’s stiff little body. “I don’t know her,” she said.

  “She’s Mr. O’Ballivan’s good friend,” Maddie answered. “And she knows about nursing.”

  “You won’t come back,” Violet accused. “Terran will make you stay at home.”

  Maddie reached out, touched the child’s uncombed hair. “I promise I’ll come back,” she said. “As soon as I possibly can.”

  Violet gnawed at her lower lip and her gaze strayed to Abigail as the other woman stepped up beside Maddie, who introduced the two, murmured a few reassuring words to Violet and turned to go.

  Violet caught up with her in a few steps, clutched at her hand. “Miss Maddie!” she cried, tugging. “Miss Maddie!”

  Maddie blinked back tears of exhaustion and sorrow. “Yes, Violet?”

  “Thank you. Thank you for comin’ to watch over Ma the way you did. Even if you don’t come back like you promised, I’m obliged.”

  Maddie smiled, bent and kissed the top of the little girl’s head. “Try to rest, Violet,” she counseled softly. “It won’t do if you wear yourself out and fall sick from it.”

  Violet peered up into Maddie’s carefully controlled face for a long moment, trying to read her. Then she nodded, let go of her painful grip on Maddie’s hand and rushed back to the cabin.

  Terran was in the kitchen, dropping an armload of wood into the box beside the stove when Maddie stepped wearily through the open back door. He regarded her stonily but said nothing.

  “Where’s Ben?” she asked to break the uncomfortable silence.

  “He’s lit out,” Terran replied. He wouldn’t meet her eyes and tried to push past her to escape into the yard. “We got into it.”

  Maddie laid a hand on his shoulder to stop him. He stiffened but didn’t try to get free. “I have many things to say to you,” she said, “but I’m too tired to start, and I’ve got a full day’s work ahead of me.” She paused, sighed. “What happened between you and Ben?”

  “He said if he had a sister like you,” Terran said, flushing defiantly as he finally looked up to meet Maddie’s gaze, “he’d treat her nice.”

  Maddie waited.

  “I said I do treat you nice, and he called me a liar. So I told him to get out and not ever come back.”

  She sighed. “Go find him, please. He needs to be here with us right now, Terran.”

  He glared up at her, recalcitrant to the bone. She had herself to thank for that, and no one else. In her desire to protect him, she’d indulged him too often. “What about breakfast?”

  Maddie frowned. “It’ll be ready and waiting.”

  Terran stood still. “I won’t tell him I’m sorry, because I ain’t,” he said.

  Maddie ruffled his hair. “‘Because I’m not,’” she corrected.

  He swallowed, nodded once and bolted.

  Maddie didn’t move right away. She felt as though she’d somehow rushed ahead of herself, leaving the Perkinses’ place, and had to catch up. When she did, she moved quickly, ladling hot water into a basin from the reservoir on the stove, fetching a flour-sack towel and a bar of soap and scrubbing her hands and face until they stung.

  She put on a pot of coffee, then assembled the ingredients for hotcakes—Terran’s favorite—made a batter and whipped it to a bubbly froth. By the time her brother returned, with a stoic Ben in tow, the table was set and the meal was waiting in the warming oven.

  The three of them ate in silence.

  When Terran had cleaned his plate, he carried it to the sink, which was, Maddie figured, as close to a voluntary apology as she was likely to get.

  She sighed.

  A loud knocking at the front of the store stirred her to action. She and Ben put their own dishes with Terran’s, and then she smoothed her hair and passed resolutely through the curtain into the main part of the mercantile.

  Oralee Pringle was peering through the display window, looking concerned.

  Maddie hurried to open the door.

  “We won’t make us any money if you’re going to lollygag half the morning,” Oralee said. She sounded impatient, but there was something that might have passed for kindness in her eyes.

  “It’s Sunday,” Maddie said reasonably.

  Oralee smiled. “So it is. You’d think I’d remember, with Saturday bein’ the biggest night of the week for business.”

  Maddie didn’t comment.

  “I know you spent the night tending the Perkins woman, and you look all done-in,” Oralee said. “You ought to lie down awhile.”

  Maddie must have looked confounded, because Oralee laughed.

  “Lordy,” she said, “I think you’re half again as stubborn as I am, and that’s saying something. How’s the Perkins woman faring this morning? Hittie, isn’t it? And how’s that poor little kid of hers?”

  “They’re in a desperate way,” Maddie said
, conscious of Oralee’s gaze as she reached for the broom, but unable to look at the other woman until she’d blinked a few times. She wondered if anyone else would ask about Violet and Hittie over the course of the day, and feared they wouldn’t. Mostly, folks just pretended the Perkins family didn’t exist.

  “I’ll send a couple of my girls over there with some vittles,” Oralee announced.

  Maddie stopped sweeping.

  “What’re you starin’ at me for?” Oralee demanded too loudly and too cheerfully. “Ain’t you never heard of a whore with a heart of gold?”

  “I will thank you to watch your language, Oralee Pringle,” Maddie heard herself say. But she was smiling.

  “If we wait for them ‘good Christians’ over to the church to do something, those folks’ll starve. Too afraid of gettin’ sick themselves, I reckon. And probably tellin’ each other this is what comes of bein’ a Perkins.”

  “There are a lot of kind people in this town,” Maddie had to say. “They’re just scared, that’s all.”

  Oralee huffed out a scoffish breath. “Might as well believe what suits you,” she allowed.

  Just then two of Maddie’s regular customers paused on the sidewalk out front, peering in through the display window. Seeing Oralee, they recoiled, fanned themselves industriously and rushed on by.

  “Guess I’m not good for business, on Sunday or any other day,” Oralee remarked, and though the words were stoutly uttered, Maddie heard some sorrow in them. “Best I get back to the Rattlesnake, anyhow. I’ll send somebody by with my grocery order tomorrow. No sense shoppin’ in Tucson anymore, now that I’ve got a stake in your fortunes.”

  Before Maddie could respond, Oralee opened the door and trundled out into the crisp morning sunlight.

  “NEVER MIND WHO came in on that stage,” Sam said impatiently when Vierra put the same question to him for what must have been the hundredth time since they’d left the railroad car to saddle up and go after the Donaghers and the rest of the outlaw gang. They’d started right away, but it was hard, tracking at night, and now that the sun was up, Sam was beginning to wonder if they’d flat-out lost the trail.