by Sean Lynch
“No, ma’am,” he said softly.
“I find that hard to believe,” she said. “You are one of the finest-looking specimens of manhood I’ve ever seen. My late husband excepted, of course.”
“I was engaged to be married, once,” Pritchard said, staring at the hat in his large hands. “It was a few years ago. The wedding didn’t go through.”
“How did that fool girl ever let a catch like you get away from her?” Maggie asked with a playful grin.
“She’s dead,” Pritchard said. Maggie’s grin vanished.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s all right,” Pritchard cut her off. “You couldn’t have known.” He shook his head. “Don’t know why I told you, just now. You’re the first woman I’ve ever said anything about it to. I guess you sorta remind me of my ma. I apologize for burdening you. Thank you for the haircut.”
Later that afternoon, while Maggie walked with Franchard around town, as they’d become accustomed to doing each day, she asked about Pritchard. He told her what little he knew of the young Ranger, what happened to Pritchard’s fiancée, and to his surprise, even confessed his guilt at being the indirect cause of her death.
Pritchard, for his part, noticed a change in Captain Franchard since they’d arrived in Magdalena and met Maggie Chase. As he ate his steak at supper and drank his beer, he found himself strangely comforted by his mentor’s clearly growing affection for Magdalena’s unofficial leader. Tom Franchard was rapidly becoming Maggie Chase’s man, and she his woman. He could tell because he’d witnessed such signs before, in his own whirlwind courtship with Caroline Biggs.
Pritchard knew Franchard as the toughest, and finest, man, other than his father and Ditch, he’d ever known. He also knew that of all the countless battles the hardened Ranger captain had fought during his extraordinary career as a Texas Ranger, the impending fight against Major Dalton Stiles and his gang would be his most personal, on account of Maggie Chase.
Pritchard remembered how Franchard had ditched his rank and risked not only his life, but his career and freedom, to help avenge Caroline’s murder in Mexico. He vowed to himself to ensure that Maggie and the rest of the women of Magdalena would suffer no more at the hands of a renegade Confederate guerrilla and outlaw named Dalton Stiles.
The saloon doors opened, and two women entered from the darkness outside. All the other women in the saloon stood up and greeted them warmly.
One of the women was a very old Apache, carrying a bundle. The other was much younger, and carrying a Henry rifle.
The younger woman was of mixed race and couldn’t have been older than thirty years of age. Her dark brown hair was pulled into a single braid behind her head. She had mocha-colored skin and coal black eyes. She wore boots and riding breeches, but her blouse was an Apache weave, much like the one worn by the elder woman accompanying her. A revolver and knife were belted across her tiny waist, and another belt of ammunition hung diagonally across her full breasts. Despite the weapons and lack of feminine attire, the woman was extraordinarily beautiful.
While the elder woman began unpacking herbs and medicines from her bundle and distributing it among the townswomen, Maggie led the other newcomer to Franchard and Pritchard’s table. Both men hastily stood up.
“May I present Miss Bina,” Maggie said, introducing the two Rangers. “She is a true friend to the people of Magdalena.”
“Then she’s our friend, too,” Captain Franchard said, shaking her hand.
“I have heard of you,” Bina said, with only a slight accent, when shaking Pritchard’s hand. “You are the one named Joe Atherton.” When she saw the curious look on his face, she said, “Word travels fast in the Socorro Valley. The Apache call you ‘Shadow Man.’ I now see why.”
“Joe is certainly tall enough to cast a long shadow,” Franchard laughed.
“His height is not what the Apache speak of,” Bina said.
“What brings you to town?” Maggie asked, as all four sat down. “Not that we ain’t always glad to see you. But I’ve never seen you come after dark or bring your rifle indoors before. Is something wrong?”
“As I said,” Bina went on, “word in these parts travels rapidly. I am told the major and his men are crossing El Malpais, the Badlands, as we speak. They are coming back to Magdalena, Maggie.”
“That’s only three days’ ride,” Maggie said. “It sounds like your plan worked, Tom.”
“I reckon so,” Franchard said. “Do you know how many?” he asked Bina.
“Fifty or more,” she said. “They say it is the most riders Major Stiles has ever been seen with.”
Franchard nodded to himself, stood up, put on his hat, and whistled.
All the Rangers, except the two on watch, one at the east end of town and one at the west, were dining in the saloon. Most of Magdalena’s women were in the hall as well. Everyone quieted.
“Listen up, Rangers,” Franchard began in his booming voice, though he was aware he was addressing both his troops and the townsfolk. “Sounds like the Stiles Gang took the bait. They’re three days out, at most.”
Some of the women glanced nervously at one another. The Rangers sat silently, waiting for their captain to continue.
“We’ve fought a lot of battles together, men,” Franchard went on. “We’ve taken on holdout renegades, warring Indians, Comancheros, and too many gangs of murderers, outlaws, and rustlers to remember. This battle is going to be different.”
The room was silent as the veteran Ranger spoke. “We’re facing a well-armed force of hardened ex-military men, all experienced guerrilla fighters, more’n twice our size. We already know they’re seasoned killers, and they’re being led by a bloodthirsty madman who’s the worst killer of ’em all. They’re coming back to Magdalena, not just to take the silver they believe they were denied, but to punish the town for holding out.”
The nervousness in some of the women began giving way to fear. A few bit nails. Others put their faces in their hands. One began silently praying, Franchard noticed.
“Up till now,” he said, “Major Stiles and his fearsome gang of outlaws have enjoyed pretty fair success back-shootin’ unarmed bank clerks, killing idle train passengers, burying defenseless miners, and abusing unprotected women.”
Franchard paused and scanned the faces riveted on his own. “Their luck’s about to change,” he said.
“When Major Dalton Stiles and his pack of cowards come ridin’ back in, they ain’t gonna be greeted by the same women they met during their last visit. They’re gonna be welcomed by the finest, bravest, and most determined gals in all of the New Mexico Territory.”
A grin spread slowly across Franchard’s face. “And they’re gonna be meetin’ some Texans.”
The saloon erupted in rebel yells, as more than twenty Rangers leaped to their feet with their hats and fists in the air.
“It’s whiskey tonight,” Franchard said when the roars died down, “and work tomorrow. You all know what the plan is, and what we have to do. We begin at dawn.”
Chapter 42
When the sun rose over Magdalena the next morning, the Rangers assembled as ordered. Many of them were bleary-eyed, and as they emerged from the various cottages and homes in town they were escorted by smiling women. Up until the previous night, the Texans had been billeted in the livery and the saloon.
Last night, however, except for Pritchard and a couple of married Rangers, every Ranger found alternative lodgings. One of the Rangers who came out of a private domicile, a house that happened to belong to Maggie Chase, was Captain Tom Franchard. Both were grinning when they appeared.
The Rangers were fed a hearty breakfast and commenced their assigned tasks. Under Franchard’s command, and Sergeant Finley’s gruff supervision, they spent every moment of daylight during the next two days working as if their lives, and the lives of the people of Magdalena, depended on it.
Some Rangers dealt with the livestock. Others, handier with
tools, strung barbed wire. Still others cleaned rifles, distributed ammunition, and prepared dynamite. Pritchard reconnoitered the rooftops of each building with his rifle, assessing cover and concealment, gauging distances, checking fields of view, and selecting optimum firing angles.
Rangers took turns standing watch outside the town limits. One stood a post at the east end, and one at the west end, of Magdalena’s main street. It was expected Stiles and his men would arrive from the west, through the Badlands, across Magdalena Peak, but Franchard was taking no chances.
Miss Bina, along with several of the townswomen and her elderly Apache helper, spent their time making up the barbershop into a makeshift hospital. She told Franchard that Apache warriors were also standing watch, in the hills surrounding Magdalena. They were much farther out than his own men and would signal when the outlaws were sighted.
“It ain’t that I’m not appreciative,” Franchard told her after she informed him of the Apache lookouts, “but the Texas Rangers, myself included, and the Apache haven’t always enjoyed the most cordial of relationships. As a matter of fact, I’ve nearly had my scalp lifted a time or two. You’ll forgive me if I’m stingy with my trust.”
“Do not fear, Captain,” Bina said. “You are no longer in Texas. Here, these Apache do not wish to mix in the affairs of white men. But Major Stiles and his raiders, by their deeds, have defiled the Nations. The tribal elders believe the ga’ans, or mountain spirits, are displeased that the ‘killers of their own tribe’ roam Apache land. The Apache will not help you defeat them, for they also believe it is very bad medicine to interfere in another tribe’s disputes. But they will watch and listen. When the major approaches, you will know.”
“Tell ’em I’m obliged,” Franchard said.
Many of the women were tasked with collecting every bucket, pail, tub, basin, and container that could hold water. Each was filled, and strategically placed in front of the buildings in town, in case of fire.
At dusk each day, the men assembled and ate a steak dinner in the saloon. Captain Franchard, Sergeant Finley, and Ranger Atherton usually arrived late, after inspecting the day’s work.
“I’m right pleased with what you all have accomplished,” Franchard addressed his Rangers and the townsfolk at dinner on the second day. “We’re as prepared as we can be for what’s comin’. All there is to do now is rest, and stand ready to fight. You all know your assigned posts.”
“I want to talk to you about that,” Maggie spoke up. “Your notion of putting all the women in the saloon to hide under their skirts doesn’t sit too well with us. Most of us can shoot. Maybe not as good as your Rangers, but we’re frontier folk, and we can all handle a gun. We can fight.” All around her, women nodded and murmured their agreement.
“What do you suggest?” Franchard said.
“Put all the children, the elderly, and those who can’t fight in the preserve cellar under the general store,” Maggie said. “Have a few armed women with ’em, in case it goes to a last stand. The rest of us can be out with your men, fightin’.”
“What if my men are overwhelmed?” Franchard said.
“If that happens, we’ll all likely be dead anyway,” Maggie said. “There ain’t gonna be no surrender. Not this time. We all agreed; we’ll not be raped again. It’s them or us, Tom. Ain’t no other way. And speakin’ for myself, if we’re gonna lose, I’d rather go down fightin’, takin’ as many of them as I can with me.”
All the women moved to encircle Maggie, their hands on their guns. Their support of her position was unanimous.
“Very well,” Franchard said, looking at Maggie with pride. “Any objections if the womenfolk fight alongside you, boys?”
“Hell, no!” the Rangers shouted.
“It’s just as well,” Pritchard said. “Stiles and his men won’t be able to shoot as accurately from horseback; that’s a fact. But when they’re unhorsed and on the ground, it’s a different story. Once afoot, they’ll make for the cover of the buildings. Then it won’t be one big battle, it’ll become dozens of smaller skirmishes, all about town. The barbed wire we strung between the buildings should keep ’em in the open longer than they’d like. When they’re out in the open, we’ve got the advantage. We can’t let Stiles’s boys get into a place and dug in. Having more guns on the ground, which means a higher volume of fire, would be mighty welcome.”
“Then it’s agreed,” Franchard said. “Sergeant Finley, assign the women to posts and ensure they have weapons and ammunition.”
“Yes, sir!”
After supper, having been forbidden to consume alcohol, the Rangers again paired up with their local paramours and drifted off to repose within private residences. Captain Franchard bid his men good night, ensured Sergeant Finley had the watch schedule in place, and then allowed Maggie to lead him away by the hand. The weight of what was to come the following morning was on the faces of every couple.
Pritchard thanked the womenfolk for the excellent dinner, collected his hat, and left the saloon. He strolled through town to the livery, where he had been lodging, when a lone figure stepped out from the darkness to block his entrance. Both his hands instinctively grasped the walnut-stocked grips of the Remington revolvers belted around his waist.
“Good evening, Ranger Atherton,” Bina said. His hands, and his posture, relaxed.
“Good evening, Miss Bina,” Pritchard returned the greeting.
“I’m sorry to have startled you.”
“No harm done,” he said. “What brings you down to the stable?”
“You,” she said as she stepped in to kiss him.
Chapter 43
Afterward, when they could catch their breath again, Bina and Pritchard lay naked on the blankets in the livery’s loft. She had released her braid. Her long dark hair flowed over his stomach, while her cheek rested against his chest.
“That was unexpected,” Pritchard said.
“The Apache do not believe in an afterlife,” she said. “We live only for the day. I wanted you, today. Who knows? After Major Stiles comes tomorrow, today may be all we have.”
“You’re only half-Apache,” Pritchard said. “Doesn’t your other half contemplate what comes after your death?”
“If death finds me tomorrow,” Bina said, “I will know then, will I not?”
“I reckon so. Speaking of your death,” Pritchard went on, “why are you still here? You weren’t in town when Major Stiles and his gang rode in before. You don’t have to be in Magdalena now. You could leave, and they’d be none the wiser. Why not go someplace where you’ll be safe?”
“I cannot,” she said. “When I was a little girl, I had a powerful vision. In this vision, I saw myself fighting in the sun alongside the Shadow Man. I did not understand the vision until I met you. Many others of my tribe saw you riding in with the Rangers. They saw the shadow, too. Now you know why I must stay and fight.”
“I don’t understand,” a confused Pritchard said. Bina lifted her head, rested her chin on his chest, and looked into his eyes.
“You are the Shadow Man,” she said. “You are cursed. Have you not felt it, circling over you like a vulture?”
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
“The Shadow of Death,” she said. “It looms above you. It feeds not on you, but on what you kill. The shadow also knows you are not who you say you are. It keeps your true spirit captive, to enslave you, so you will continue feeding it.”
“That’s plumb crazy,” Pritchard said.
“Is it?” she asked. “Tell me,” she said, “how many men have you killed?”
“I don’t—”
“Far more, I suspect,” she interrupted him, “than even Captain Franchard or your fellow Rangers know. You feed the shadow well. This is one of the reasons it has chosen you.”
Pritchard wasn’t sure what to make of what Bina said. She was older than him by a few years and obviously extremely intelligent, as well as breathtakingly beautiful. How could this my
sterious woman, who lived between two worlds, know he was not Joe Atherton, but instead Samuel Pritchard? And how could she possibly guess how many men he had killed?”
“Assuming you’re right,” Pritchard said, “how do I get rid of this ‘shadow’ you say is bird-dogging me?”
“There is only one way to dispel the curse. You must return to the place where the shadow befell you and conquer the demon who cursed you. Only then can the shadow be lifted and your spirit again walk free.”
“What if I can’t go back?” Pritchard said. “What if by going back, I would endanger those I love?”
“Do you not think the shadow knows you cannot return to the one place where it can be defeated?” Bina asked. “This is another of the reasons you were chosen.”
Pritchard didn’t know what to say. He held the magnificent woman in his arms and tried to absorb the significance of her words. Part of him presumed what she’d told him was superstitious nonsense. But another part, a part gnawing at the back of his mind, couldn’t help but harbor the suspicion that what she’d said was true. Bina’s statement about who he really was and the shadow that clung to him, in concert with the passion they had just shared, left him doubtful and confused.
Bina suddenly stood up and began to re-braid her hair. Pritchard thought her nude body, in the dim light of the New Mexico moon filtering through the stable’s windows, was also a mystical vision.
“I must go,” she said, as she finished dressing. “I still have much to do in the infirmary. Tomorrow you, and I, and your shadow will stand together in battle.”
“Now that you’ve told me what my shadow means,” Pritchard said, “I’m not sure I want it along.”
“Your shadow is not always bad medicine,” Bina said. “Tomorrow we will use it to protect the people of Magdalena, and vanquish an even greater evil spirit.”
“If you say so,” he said.
“Sleep now, Man-Who-Calls-Himself-Joe,” she said. She knelt and kissed him. “Rest, and ready your spirit for the coming fight.”