As the pale faces of the three men appeared, Billy released the safety on his rifle. In the gully, the click sounded as loud as a gunshot.
“Put it down, Kid!” Noah grabbed the barrel.
“C’mon, fellers, we’ve got three of Tunstall’s murderers,” Billy argued. “Let’s plug ’em and be done with ’em.”
Dick assessed the skinny, bucktoothed boy. “To tell the truth, I’m sorry they gave up, too. If we’d shot it out, we could have finished ’em. But we took an oath, Kid. I promised to transport any prisoners I captured to Lincoln. Alive.”
Billy spat. “I say shoot ’em between the eyes and save the court’s time.”
“No, Kid. I’m not gonna let you do it.” Dick nodded to Noah and the others. “Take their weapons, men. Let’s ride for Lincoln.”
The party spent the night at Chisum’s cow camp near the Pecos River. It bothered Noah that they had failed to capture two of the men. The Regulators’ position was tenuous. A word from any of those two, and Dolan’s men would ride after them.
As he watched Isobel sleeping, Noah wondered how he had made such a big mistake. If Dolan’s bunch came to rescue their men, he honestly didn’t know how he would fare at protecting his own hide, let alone Isobel’s. She was good with a gun, but being hunted by heartless desperados was a lot different from shooting glass bottle targets.
The only thing he could think to do was pray. At Mrs. Allison’s feet, Noah had formed a deep faith in God. He was far from perfect, but he tried to follow the Bible’s principles. Isobel had no such regard for her Creator. In her quest to avenge her father’s death, she was oblivious to the scripture Mrs. Allison had made him memorize: “Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord.” Maybe Isobel had never heard it.
Was she a Christian? He studied the beautiful woman who had stolen his heart. The idea that a Dolan man might kill her sent a chill through Noah. Losing her would be torment. But then a lifetime wondering if her faith had been enough to see her into heaven? That would drive him loco.
He was still awake when the sun slid over the Pecos and roused the others. With their prisoners riding near the front of the line, the Regulators wound their way back up the Pecos toward South Spring River Ranch. At Chisum’s place they learned that Dolan had organized a band of twenty men—and the posse’s sole aim was to hunt down the Regulators.
“You think Dolan’s posse might be planning to ambush us and rescue their men?” Dick asked as they rode toward Lincoln the following day.
“If we take the main road into Lincoln,” Noah said, “we’ll play right into their hands. I say we follow the trail through Blackwater Canyon.”
“Good idea.” After clapping his friend on the shoulder, Dick rode ahead to inform the others.
As the riders left the road, Isobel sensed a strange certainty that she had come home. The New Mexico Territory was not her beloved Catalonia, but here the sky was large and blue, the trees grew tall, rivers rushed through gorges, deer and jackrabbits nibbled grass damp with morning dew. Here rattlesnakes sunned on gray limestone slabs, and coyotes cried out to the moon.
Oh, she enjoyed her fine furnishings and silk gowns, but they could hardly compare to a land as raw and untamed as the spirit that flamed in her heart. With her hair braided and tucked under one of Noah’s black Stetsons, her riding boots hooked in the stirrups and Noah’s leather belt and holster at her waist, she felt she had found herself.
“I never got to thank you for typing my story,” Noah said, leaning toward her. “I put it in my saddlebag so I can mail it when we reach Lincoln.”
Isobel gazed into his warm blue eyes. “I enjoyed the typing. I liked your home very much, Noah.”
He smiled. “We had a good time there.”
As he reached to take her hand, gunshots rang through the canyon. Noah whipped his six-shooter from its holster. His left hand reached to shelter Isobel as he spurred his horse ahead of hers.
“Kid!” Dick shouted toward the front line. “Who fired?”
Noah and Isobel rounded a bend in the trail moments after Dick. On the ground lay three men spattered with blood.
“Who did this?” Dick barked. “Billy, you responsible here?”
The Kid shrugged and glanced at the other men riding with him in the front flanks.
“Speak up, Billy,” Dick demanded. “We promised to bring back prisoners—and now we got three dead bodies.”
Isobel slid from her horse. Once again, death. Barely breathing, she walked among the horses toward the corpses. As she took off her hat, her golden braid tumbled down her back.
“Isobel…” Noah took her arm, but she pulled free and knelt beside the latest victims of Lincoln County’s violence.
“Here’s what happened,” Billy was explaining. “I reckon they was arguin’. One of ’em shot this feller, and then him and the other one took off. That’s what happened, ain’t it, boys?”
“Yeah,” the others mumbled in assent.
Isobel stood and rubbed her bloodstained fingers together. “This man was shot in the back nine times.”
“Like I said,” Billy went on, “he was tryin’ to git away. ’Course we shot him in the back.”
No one spoke as they stared at the three dead men. Isobel felt sick inside. At least two of them had helped kill John Tunstall, but she didn’t feel the expected sense of triumph at seeing his murderers slain.
“Fine way to regulate the law in Lincoln County,” Noah spoke up, his voice tight. “Makes a fellow proud to be called a Regulator.”
“What’s the matter, Buchanan? You been lookin’ at the world through lace curtains too long?” Billy jeered.
Noah stared at him a moment before turning away. “C’mon, boys, let’s get these men buried.”
The three Dolan men had been shot in Blackwater Canyon. Dick Brewer paid a group of Mexicans at a nearby cow camp to bury the bodies. His mood dark, the Regulators’ leader said nothing as his posse traversed the canyon trail.
As night fell, Billy Bonney announced that he and the other men responsible for the three deaths would ride to San Patricio and hide in the hills until Dick had conferred with the law in Lincoln. When all was clear, the Regulators could regroup and make new plans.
Noah and Isobel elected to remain with the original party. He had no intention of leaving Dick to face a possible Dolan ambush. The winding canyon trail took another full day to navigate. As the three tied their horses to a post outside Alexander McSween’s house, Isobel mentioned that exactly one week had passed since the Sunday Noah had read his Bible at the pine table in his home.
“So much has happened since that peaceful morning,” she murmured. With a sigh, she stepped onto McSween’s porch.
“Isobel!” Susan Gates flew through the door and embraced her friend. “Is it really you? Why, I took you for a man in that getup. Oh, Isobel, I thought I’d never see you again! And what has become of…of…” She scanned the faces. “Oh, Mr. Brewer… How nice to see you.”
Susan clearly struggled to contain her joy at finding Dick alive and well. The handsome cattleman made no such pretense. He took two strides toward the woman, took her in his arms and kissed her full on the lips.
“Miss Gates, I’m back,” he announced. “I’m here to say in front of all this company that I love you, and if you’ll have me, I aim to marry you.”
“Mercy!” Susan’s eyes lit up as she clasped her hands at her breast. “Why, yes, Mr. Brewer. I’ll have you. Indeed, I will.”
“Thank you kindly, ma’am. And if you’ll excuse me, I need to talk to a good lawyer.”
“Reckon I’ll do?” A tall man stepped from the shadows of the doorway.
“McSween?” Noah queried. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”
“Figured no one would shoot me in the back with Governor Axtell in town. Come on inside, Dick.” He set a hand on the young man’s shoulder and led him into the house.
“Felicitaciones,” Isobel said to her friend.
“You could
n’t have a finer husband, Miss Gates,” Noah added as he brushed past her to follow the other men.
“My stars, what a shock!” Susan giggled as she gestured toward two wicker chairs on the porch. “Come sit down, Isobel, and tell me what brought that on. I’ve never seen Dick so bold.”
“Dick Brewer is a brave man, Susan.” Isobel settled on a weathered cushion. She summarized the events of the past days as Susan listened, the smile on her face fading as Isobel recounted what had befallen the Regulators.
“So what did happen to the three Dolan men out there in Blackwater Canyon?” Susan asked at the end of the tale. “Were they really trying to escape? Or did Billy just up and shoot them?”
“I don’t know,” Isobel acknowledged. “I think we may never have the full truth.”
“You need to know what’s happened here in Lincoln while you’ve been away,” Susan said softly. “Governor Axtell came down from Santa Fe to investigate the troubles. He’s Jimmie Dolan’s good friend, so you can imagine how it all came out. Axtell refused to interview anybody on our side. Mr. McSween even risked his life to come back to town, but the governor wouldn’t see him.”
“Has Axtell done anything about the situation?”
“I’m afraid so. He voided Squire Wilson’s appointment as justice of the peace.”
Isobel reflected on the man whose careful record-keeping had helped her trace the events of her father’s murder. “That’s a great loss to the town,” she said.
“The governor also declared that no one can enforce any legal process except Sheriff Brady and his deputies.”
Isobel stood as Noah stepped onto the porch. Leaning one muscled shoulder against the doorjamb, he spoke. “Governor Axtell has outlawed the Regulators.”
She gasped. “Then Dick had no authority to round up those men?”
“Not as of March eighth, the day they were shot in Blackwater Canyon. We’re outlaws,” he said. “Every last one of us.”
“Oh, Isobel!” Susan cried out.
Noah took a step closer. “Isobel, you need to decide what you want to do. You can ride for Santa Fe tonight, or you can stay here under Alexander McSween’s protection.”
“And you?”
“Dick and I are heading for his farm on the Ruidoso River. We’ll stay until court convenes April eighth.”
“But that’s three weeks away. I’ll go with you.”
“No, you won’t, Isobel.” His words left no room to protest. “I can’t protect you there. Stay here or ride to Santa Fe. Your choice.”
Isobel gazed into his blue eyes and knew she was not ready to leave them. Not yet.
“I’ll stay in Lincoln,” she told him. “I’ll wait for you.”
Isobel settled at Alexander McSween’s house along with the Ealy family and Susan Gates. They had been her companions on the trail to Lincoln, and she was glad to rejoin them. But she knew the arrangement set them all squarely in the Tunstall-McSween camp.
Susan and Dick had spent not five minutes alone together before he and Noah set off. But that was enough to convince Susan that he wanted her for his wife—and the sooner the better.
Isobel tried to be interested in planning her friend’s wedding. The two women studied the array of fabrics inside the closed Tunstall store. “The green, do you think?” Susan would ask. “Or would pink make a better wedding gown?”
But Isobel’s thoughts were on a man whose face was imprinted on her soul. Dressing each morning, she recalled his admiration of her blue gown. Brushing her hair, she remembered him lifting a tress from her shoulder, turning it this way and that. Helping Mary Ealy prepare breakfast, she heard the clatter Noah had made as he’d searched for bowls, a frying pan, spoons.
Isobel had only to gaze out the window, and the scene brought Noah to her mind. Riding into town that first evening and sliding from her horse into his arms. Crossing frozen streets on the way to Juan Patrón’s house. Lincoln had become a part of her life. Her life and Noah’s, together.
“You love Mr. Buchanan,” Susan declared almost a week after the men had ridden away. “Don’t you, Isobel?”
She gave a weak smile. “The last time I told you how little Noah meant to me, he was standing just outside the door. Now…oh, how I wish he were here again.”
Susan reached out and covered Isobel’s hands with her own. “In the eyes of God, you and Noah are married. It’s all right to love him. Do you want a husband? Do you want Noah?”
“I tell myself I want to capture Snake Jackson,” Isobel said. “I want to regain my land titles. I want to marry Don Guillermo. But…Noah is the only man I’ve ever wanted in this way. I cannot imagine my life without him now.”
“I’ve got news!” Dr. Ealy strode through the back door, his coattails flying in the March breeze. “It’s about Jesse Evans—one of the men who shot Mr. Tunstall.”
“Have they caught him?” his wife asked.
“Evans and some of the others have been hiding out in the Sacramento Mountains. A few days ago they sneaked over to a spread near Tularosa to loot it. They were having a merry time of it, but then the owner showed up. He grabbed a rifle and started firing.”
“Was anyone shot?” Isobel had realized at once that Snake Jackson often rode with the Evans bunch.
“Killed one and wounded Evans. Shot him in the wrist and the lungs.”
“Lungs!” Mary Ealy exclaimed. “Oh, he can’t last long.”
Dr. Ealy snorted. “Guess again. Evans escaped to friendly turf in the Organ Mountains. Just this morning he decided to give himself up to the commanding officer at Fort Stanton. So there he lies—safe from the Regulators and receiving the finest medical attention in these parts. Save for my own skilled hands, of course.”
“Is Evans a free man at the Fort?” Isobel asked.
“He’s under arrest until court convenes in April. They’ll try him under one of the old warrants he racked up—horse and cattle rustler, murderer, robber.” Dr. Ealy shook his head. “And here’s the humdinger of it all. Evans swore it was another man in the bunch who pulled the trigger on John Tunstall.”
“Another man?” Isobel exploded. “But I saw Snake Jackson and Jesse Evans kill him!”
Clenching her teeth, Isobel turned away and stepped outside. Never mind about Evans. The real object of her mission was Jim Jackson.
If she could have no part in Noah’s life…no station as a doña in the Pascal family…no rights to her father’s land in Catalonia…then she had only one path.
She must find Jackson.
And only one man would know where he was hiding. Gazing up at the rolling green hills that rose above the river, Isobel made her decision. She would ride for Fort Stanton at once.
Chapter Twelve
Isobel knew Dr. Ealy and his wife would forbid her to leave McSween’s house. Instead she took Susan aside and explained the situation. If she confronted Jesse Evans while he was under arrest at Fort Stanton, he would be forced to tell her where Snake Jackson was hiding.
“And what then?” Susan asked, panic in her voice.
“Then…only God knows.”
Susan’s protests did no good. Isobel’s revenge would be complete only with the recovery of the land that belonged to her family. Vengeance was her only hope of peace.
Clad in borrowed denim trousers, chambray shirt and leather coat, Isobel set Noah’s black Stetson over her gold braid and mounted her horse.
Reaching down, she took Susan’s hand. “I shall return in a week. If not, you must write to my mother. Tell her I tried.”
“Oh, Isobel!”
“And tell Noah…tell him that I loved him.”
Fort Stanton was nine miles from Lincoln. Once under the authority of Kit Carson, it was now commanded by Captain Purington. The towering snow-covered peak of Sierra Blanca dominated the horizon on one side of the stone bastion. On the other rose the mountains of El Capitan.
Entering the fort with little notice from the guards, Isobel scanned the barracks, irriga
tion ditches and spaded garden plots. Homes dotted the enclosure, and she noted more women and children than she had expected.
Troops of the Ninth Cavalry Regiment—one of four black brigades organized after the Civil War—were stationed at the fort. Highly respected by area settlers, the soldiers protected them from Apache attacks.
Noah had told Isobel that five years earlier, Jimmie Dolan had been the fort’s primary supplier of goods. Accused of defrauding the government, his services had been terminated. She assumed this meant the commanders would oppose Dolan in the Lincoln County conflict.
She was wrong. Noah had said the garrison’s orders lay with the law in New Mexico. And the law upheld every move Jimmie Dolan made. Determined to speak to Jesse Evans, Isobel tied up her horse and entered a building that served as the fort’s store, hotel and post office.
“Help ya?” The voice came from a row of mailboxes where a man was sorting through a stack of envelopes. “Name’s Will Dowlin. I’m the trader and postmaster here.”
“I want to speak with a medical prisoner.”
“Jesse Evans? He’s under guard at the hospital. Go to headquarters and ask for the officer in charge.” The postmaster turned toward her. “Will you be needin’ a room for the night…ma’am? Or, is it sir?”
“My name is Isobel Matas Buchanan. I seek Jim Jackson, the man who murdered my father. And no, thank you, I won’t need a room.”
As she prepared to step outside, Dowlin called to her. “Miz Buchanan, I wouldn’t go tellin’ folks you’re lookin’ for Snake Jackson. He’s liable to start lookin’ for you.”
She tipped her head. “I certainly hope so, Mr. Dowlin.”
Captain Purington was frustrated with the War Department, he told Isobel, and tired of being fettered in his efforts to control the troubles in Lincoln County. Fearing more problems, he at first refused her interview request. But after much pleading, he said if she was fool-headed enough to hunt down a man wanted for murder, so be it.
Late that night, Isobel was ushered into the Fort Stanton hospital. Dr. Appel, the physician who had been paid a hundred dollars to examine John Tunstall’s body for the Dolan faction, pointed out Jesse Evans. The outlaw lay on a camp bed, his wrist and chest bandaged.
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