by Ralph Cotton
“What are you doing?” Braden asked.
“What the hell does it look like I’m doing?” Ellis replied, chuckling under his breath.
“We don’t have to do this!” said Braden. He’ll be coming back before long. All we got to do is wait, and be ready to ambush him!”
“That’s right,” said Ellis, shaking the lamp fuel all over the table, the floor, and up and down the new curtains. “But he’ll see this a long ways off and come riding in fast, before he has time to realize what might be waiting for him along the trail.”
“That ain’t sound enough reasoning to suit me,” said Braden, shaking his head.
“Sound reasoning, hell,” said Ellis. “Some things you have to do just for the fun of it. Don’t forget this gunman peckerwood cost us our jobs at the Double D.”
“I thought we was getting ready to quit that job anyway,” said Braden.
“You just ain’t with me on nothing today, are you, Moon?” said Ellis, cocking a menacing eye at him.
“All right, damn it,” said Braden. “I’ll go along with you. But let’s get done and get out of here. Don’t forget how he got his reputation.”
“You’re starting to worry worse than an old woman, Moon,” said Ellis. “Now grab a lamp and shake it out.”
When the two had finished emptying fuel oil all over the inside of the house, they walked out onto the porch and Cleveland Ellis took a wooden match from his pocket. “Go get the horses, Moon. I’ll do the honors here.”
He watched his partner hurry down to the hitch rail and pull the horses back a few feet. As soon as Braden was mounted, holding Ellis’s horse by its reins, Cleveland Ellis struck the match, pitched it inside the open door, and hurried away from the house as the fuel ignited quickly, sending a roaring ball of fire out through the front door. “Whooie!” Ellis laughed aloud, seeing the flames licking high inside the house as he jumped atop his horse. “Now that is what I call a fire!”
“Let’s get going, Cleveland!” Moon Braden said nervously, looking all around as if Dawson might appear at any second.
“I’m just waiting on you, Moon.” Ellis laughed, turning his horse and batting his heels against its sides.
They rode their horses quickly along the Old Spanish Trail, following the hoof prints left by Stony and the red mule, until they looked back and saw the black smoke billowing high above the rocky cliff line. Slowing their horses to a walk, Ellis said, “I figure we can stay on these prints awhile longer. We can always get up into the rocks as soon as we hear somebody coming.”
“That’s a risky way of dealing with a man like Dawson,” Braden said, sounding concerned.
Cleveland Ellis had began feeling big about himself after setting the fire. He jutted his chin and said, “Instead of me worrying about dealing with Dawson, maybe Dawson better start worrying about dealing with me.”
Moon Braden just gave him a doubtful look and rode on. When they reached the spot in the trail where Dawson and Carmelita had met up with the ill-fated Mike Cassidy, Ellis halted his horse and looked down at the dark blood on the dirt. Then he saw where the hoof prints had split up, two going in the direction of the Double D Spread, and one still headed along the trail. “Now what have we here?” he asked, stepping down from his horse’s back and stooping down for a closer look.
“Now there’s three of them,” said Moon Braden in a shaky voice. “I don’t like this one bit.” He looked around again.
“You’re starting to get on my nerves something awful, Moon,” Ellis warned him. “Stop acting like you’re about to soil yourself.”
Braden took a deep breath and calmed himself, but still kept a wary eye on the trail ahead. “All right, what now? There’s three of them…which do we follow? Which set belongs to Dawson?”
“Dawson ain’t riding no mule,” said Ellis, “that’s for damn sure.”
“How can you tell those are mule hoof prints?” Moon Braden asked.
“I’m from Ohio, Moon. Don’t ever ask me how I can tell a mule from a horse! It’s insulting,” he snapped.
“All right, sorry!” said Braden. Again he looked around nervously. “So what are we going to do?”
“We’re not going to ride into the Double D Spread after him, that’s for damned sure,” said Ellis, nodding in the direction of the two sets of horse prints.
“But you just said Dawson ain’t riding no mule!” said Braden, getting more and more nervous sitting there. “There’s no point following it!”
“I know what I said, damn it!” Ellis shouted, getting nervous and edgy himself. He looked back and forth for a moment as if giving things some careful consideration. Finally he said, “All right, here’s the plan…we’re going back to town. I’ll tell Lematte we couldn’t find him.”
“Back to town?” Braden gave him a disbelieving look. Poking his thumb back over his shoulder, he said, “You mean we just burnt down a good house for nothing?”
“It’s Dawson’s house, so don’t say we burnt it for nothing!” Ellis snapped.
“It sure feels like it was for nothing to me.” Braden shrugged.
Cleveland Ellis gritted his teeth to keep from snatching his gun from his holster and killing Moon Braden on the spot. Taking a deep breath and getting himself under control, he said, “All right…I’m going to follow the mule because it might be that woman that Dawson was talking about, the one who lives at the Shaw hacienda. If it is, he’ll soon be coming back to her.”
“Well, I expect he will,” Braden said sarcastically, “now that we’ve burnt his house to the ground…for no good reason!”
“Keep it up about that house, Moon,” said Ellis, pointing a gloved finger at him. “See if I don’t kill you.”
“Are we going or not?” said Braden, ignoring his threat.
Grumbling under his breath, Cleveland Ellis jumped into his saddle and angrily jerked his horse around in the direction of the single set of hoof prints. “Yes! We’re going back to town, but first we’re going to the Shaw hacienda. I want to see that woman for myself.
Carmelita spotted the black smoke in the distance above the jagged hillside as she looked out along the trail. She’d known it was too early to see Cray Dawson riding in, yet she nervously watched for him all the same. When she first saw the smoke she did not instantly think that it might be the Dawson house burning. But upon consideration she couldn’t think of anything else in that direction that would raise this kind of smoke, especially after the heavy storms had left much of the land still standing in water. The smoke made her even more anxious and restless. She walked back and forth near the window. Nearly an hour passed.
She stopped pacing and stared out the window, seeing that the black smoke had dissipated slightly. She’d told Dawson she’d wait here for him, but now she wasn’t sure she could. She looked at the stone hearth, at the bullet hole still in its facing, and reminded herself of the terrible thing that had happened to her sister in this house.* She walked out front and paced back and forth on the porch. Anotherhalf hour passed. She stopped and looked at the smoke, noting that it had slackened and drifted far across the rocky hill land. Dawson would understand, she told herself, suddenly stricken by an overpowering need to get away from there.
She walked inside, grabbing her riding coat and the big Colt Dawson had placed in a drawer for her in case of emergencies. Then she hurried out and around to the barn, driven by dark intuition, an inner voice urging her to flee. There, she quickly saddled the red mule and rode away, the mule running stiffly as she batted her boot heels against its sides. Instinctively, she rode away from the rear of the hacienda, ducking slightly to avoid the low, thick branch of a live oak standing close to the barn. She took a seldom-used elk path that led upward and parallel to the main trail.
Once in the shelter of rock and juniper and scrub piñon she slowed the mule to a steady pace and calmed herself down. But before she had gone a full mile she spotted a drift of dust rising from the trail below. She stopped the mule, dropped fro
m the saddle, and led the animal close to the edge of the cliffs. Looking down from a well-hidden position, seeing the two riders, she crossed herself and whispered the name of the Holy Mother under her breath. Seeing the glint of the deputy badges on their chests she whispered to herself, “Sheriff Lematte’s asesinos.”
She had no doubt what these men had been up to, and she had no doubt where they were headed now. She watched them ride along at a quick, steady pace toward the hacienda, looking back over their shoulders. “Animals cochinos!” she said to herself in her native tongue. Raising the big Colt with both hands, she squinted one eye shut and aimed down at them, her hands swaying under the weight of the gun. But she did not cock the hammer on the Colt; instead she lowered it and shook her head, her pulse pounding. She was no killer. She stood up, dusting herself off, and hurried to the mule. She shoved the Colt down in her belt and rode away quickly, going another full mile before cutting down onto the main trail.
Once down on the stretch of flatlands Carmelita hurried the mule along until she saw a lone rider racing toward her in the fading evening light. For a moment she could only stare, her breath seeming stuck in her chest. But as the horseman came closer and she recognized both Dawson and his horse, Stony, she sighed and allowed herself to slump in the saddle. She let the mule stop in the trail and waited for Dawson to slide the horse to a halt beside her.
“Carmelita! Are you all right?” Dawson said, out of breath. Before she could even answer, he embraced her, lifting her from the mule and onto his lap.
“Si, I am all right,” she said with relief. She saw the worried look melt in his eyes, then she felt him press her against him. She returned his embrace, saying, “You saw the two men?”
“Yes,” he said, “That is, I saw what they did. They burned my house. I knew their next stop would be the hacienda.” He hesitated, conjuring up his own dark memories of what had once happened at the hacienda. “I—I rode ahead of the others.” He nodded back toward the trail, where dust from the Double D riders and the buckboard was just beginning to loom on the purple horizon.
“These men were deputies,” she said. “I saw the badges on their chests.”
“I figured as much,” said Dawson. He let her down from his lap, then stepped down beside her. They looked toward the Double D men riding ever closer.
“Why are so many men riding with you?” she asked.
“They asked me to ride in and bring back the bodies of Bouchard and his men for proper burial,” Dawson said. “I want Lematte to know that I’m not alone.”
“Before it’s over there will be much bloodshed, no matter how we try to avoid it, si?” she asked.
Dawson’s voice lowered as he replied, “Yes, Carmelita…I’m afraid so.”
* See Book I: Gunman’s Song
Chapter 18
When Cleveland Ellis and Moon Braden arrived at the hacienda, again they stopped their horses a long ways back and watched the place for any sign of life before venturing forward into the yard. “Seems like everywhere we go lately there’s nobody at home,” said Ellis.
“Is that why we just burn their houses down and ride on?” Moon Braden asked sharply, the two of them stepping down from their saddles.
“Keep it up,” Ellis warned him. Then, nodding toward the hacienda, he said, “If nobody’s home now, they must be on their way. Let’s get these horses out of sight and wait inside. They’ll least expect something to happen as they come through their front door.”
“Yeah,” said Moon. “Maybe we can rustle up something to eat in there, too. I’m starving.”
“Me too,” said Ellis. “I didn’t see a thing to eat at that last house.”
“If we hadn’t been so quick to stick a match to it,” we might have found something,” Braden said, leading his horse around the side of the hacienda toward the barn. Cleveland Ellis just looked at him.
Inside the barn, instead of putting the two horses in a stall, they hitched them to a pole near the rear doors and opened the doors halfway in case they had to make a hasty exit. Then they entered the rear door of the hacienda and rummaged the pantry for food. Ellis found a canvas bread bag containing a half loaf of sugar-sprinkled sweet bread, and they began breaking off chunks of it and wolfing them down. “God almighty, I love Mexican pan dulce!” he said with his mouth stuffed. “I’ll say one thing about this little filly, she sure can cook!”
“Um-hmm!” Grunting in reply, Moon Braden looked around, found a bottle of wine, pulled the cork and tossed it away. Raising the bottle, Moon swigged long and deep until Ellis forced his hand down and took the bottle from him.
“Damn it! Show some manners,” said Ellis, standing beside him. He took a long drink himself and started to hand the bottle back to Moon.
But Moon had found another bottle. “Keep it,” he said, shaking the bottle slightly, pointing it toward a shelf lined with more dark wine bottles. “There’s enough here to start our own little fiesta!”
Ellis nodded, grinning. But then the seriousness of their being there set in and he said, “You’ve got to keep an eye on the trail, while I go through this place, see what I can find.”
Finishing a drink of wine, Braden wiped a hand across his mouth and said, stifling a belch, “I agree we’ve got to keep an eye on the trail…but I didn’t know we’re trying to find anything, except Cray Dawson.
“Don’t you think it would be helpful to look around, find out what we can about the man we’re looking for?” Ellis asked.
“Sure,” said Braden, shrugging. “But I believe you just want to sniff around at the woman’s stuff.”
Ellis’s expression grew hard. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means just what I said,” Braden repeated. “You’re wanting to snoop around and go through the woman’s stuff.”
“So what if I am?” said Ellis. “That’s what a normal man does, ain’t it?”
Instead of answering his partner, Braden tore off a mouthful of sweet bread with his teeth and threw back another long drink of wine.
Ellis looked him up and down. “Now, if you don’t have any more comments on the matter, I’ll go look around some. Whatever you do, don’t light a lamp. Anybody riding the trail will see a match strike halfway to the hills.”
“Don’t worry,” said Braden, eating vigorously. “I know better then to strike a match.” He added sarcastically, “I don’t want to give you any ideas.” He let out a short laugh at his own humor.
“Smart son of a bitch,” Ellis cursed under his breath, walking away. He prowled his way to the bedroom, leaving opened drawers and disheveled whatnots and belongings in his wake.
Moon Braden took a large chunk of the pan dulce, the opened bottle of wine in his hand and a fresh bottle under his arm, and walked to the front window where he could keep a clear lookout on the winding trail. “Don’t take all night looking,” Braden called out toward the bedroom. Chuckling again at his humor, Braden took another long drink, feeling the strong Mexican wine beginning to glow inside him.
But Moon Braden’s words didn’t cause Ellis to get in any hurry. Nearly an hour passed before Ellis came back from the bedroom, carrying his boots in his hand and his gun belt over his shoulder. “Moon, you can go on back there if you want to,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I’ll keep watch for awhile.”
Moon had dozed off leaning against the window frame, but Ellis’s voice snapped him out of it. “Huh? Go where?” he asked, having heard Ellis through a veil of sleep.
“You fell asleep keeping watch, didn’t you?” Ellis asked accusingly.
“I wasn’t asleep,” said Braden. He wiped his blurry eyes and looked Ellis up and down curiously in the pale moonlight coming through the window. “What do you mean ‘I can go back there awhile?’” he asked, staring at Ellis’s empty boots and shouldered gun belt.
Ellis set his boots down and began stepping into and pulling them on. “Never mind,” he said with a snap.
Braden looked him up and down
again, this time with a disbelieving grin, saying, “What on earth was you doing back there all this time, Pard?”
“I was just looking,” said Ellis, adjusting his boots and swinging his gun belt around his waist. “You can go look if you want to…that’s all I was saying.”
“Just looking?” Braden asked. He sniffed the air, catching a scent of women’s lilac cologne. “Are you wearing perfume?”
“You go to hell, Braden!” Ellis snapped. “I might have spilled some on me…it’s too damn dark in here!”
“Yeah, it’s dark, but still…” said Braden, his words trailing.
Trying to change the subject, Ellis pulled out a handful of cigars and wagged them back and forth in front of Braden. “Look what I found! I suppose you won’t turn one of these babies down, will you?”
“We can’t light them in here, remember?” said Braden. “We don’t want any light to be seen.”
“I know,” said Ellis, “but give me a match. I’ll go light them out back, then bring them back in here. There’s no reason we can’t be comfortable while we wait.”
“Nothing doing,” said Braden, turning back to the window. “I ain’t trusting you alone with a match. I still wonder what you was doing in that woman’s bedroom all this time.”
Outside, leading the riders around the last wide turn in the trail, Cray Dawson saw the flash of fire in the front window of the hacienda and heard the single muffled gunshot. He halted the group and said to the Furry brothers, riding with Carmelita in the buckboard beside him, “Did you see that? It came from inside the house.”
“We all saw it,” said Max Furry. “What does it mean?”
“I have no idea,” said Dawson. But we’re not taking any chances. We’re going to dismount, circle the place and close in all at once.”
Cleveland Ellis came back from the bedroom for the second time, this time bare-chested and hatless with a pair of women’s pantaloons draped around his neck. He finished his second bottle of wine in a long gulp and saved enough of it to spit a stream down on Moon Braden’s body. “What do you think of this trinket, Pard?” He jiggled a large beaded women’s necklace on his chest. Then he said, mockingly, “What’s that? I don’t hear you giving me any back-talk, Mister Braden! Looks like you’ve finally learnt to keep your mouth shut.” He gave the blank, dead face a short kick, causing Braden’s head to rock back and forth on the hard tile floor.