The Outlaw's Bride

by Catherine Palmer

“Take her away, Peppin.”

  The sheriff nudged Isobel with the end of his rifle. She refused to move.

  “Mr. Dolan,” she said, “I own the finest land in New Mexico. I took my title papers from Snake Jackson this morning. If you’ll set my husband free, I’ll give them to you.”

  “Land, eh?” Dolan squinted at her. “You took those titles from Jackson? Rattlesnake Jim Jackson? Did you kill him?”

  Isobel looked away. “You’ll find his body on the road to Roswell where the Bonito and Hondo rivers join.”

  “You’re a banshee yourself. Hand over that packet, ma’am,” Dolan commanded, drawing his own gun.

  “I don’t have them with me,” she retorted. “You don’t think I’m so foolish as to carry valuables into this murderous town, do you? I buried them. But if you’ll set my husband free—”

  “Ah, just take her away, Peppin. I’ll get the titles later. Can’t have a banshee roamin’ the town, can we?”

  “Mr. Dolan, this woman is wounded,” the sheriff said. “I’d better take her over to Tunstall’s store and let Doc Ealy have a look at her.”

  “Any woman who could kill Snake Jackson and steal those land titles he’s been so proud of all these years can’t be underestimated. Especially if she’s tryin’ to break out one of the Regulators. Give her husband and the rest of McSween’s bunch a look at my ace-in-the-hole. Then take her to the Cisneros house. And lock her up tight.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The Irishman rode away into the darkness. Peppin gave Isobel an apologetic shrug and prodded her forward.

  “Will you send Dr. Ealy to me, Sheriff?” Isobel asked as they neared a three-room adobe house opposite McSween’s. “Jackson wounded me in the shoulder. Please, I need help. Dr. Ealy won’t cause trouble. He’s a missionary—a man of God.”

  “I’ll do what I can for you, Mrs. Buchanan.”

  Peppin paraded Isobel past Alexander McSween’s house, but it was so dark she couldn’t be sure Noah saw her. The Cisneros family had fled Lincoln, the sheriff told her, as had most of the town’s peaceable citizens. Dolan had taken the Cisneros house, though it was too small to hold many fighters. Peppin led Isobel to the front bedroom, locked her in and stationed an armed man at the door.

  From a curtained window, she could see a row of silhouettes lining the roof of the McSween house across the street. She tried to identify Noah among them, but there was not enough moonlight to see clearly. For some time, she waited in hopes that Dr. Ealy would come—not so much to tend her wounds as to reassure her that Noah was all right.

  When no one came, she bathed her wounds in a washbasin and lay back on the bed. Though she had not planned to sleep, the sun was well up when she was awakened by the sound of her bedroom door swinging open.

  “Breakfast, Mrs. Buchanan?” Her young guard walked in with a loaf of bread under one arm and a pot of hot coffee in his hand. His other hand rested lightly on the handle of his pistol. “Sorry to bust in on you. If you don’t mind my sayin’ so, ma’am, you don’t look too perky this mornin’.”

  Isobel attempted to smooth her wrinkled shirtwaist while the guard set the bread and coffee on the dresser.

  “Say, did you really kill Rattlesnake Jim Jackson?” he asked, giving her a sideways glance. “That’s the rumor.”

  “Yes, and I’d rather not discuss it,” Isobel informed him. “When will I be set free?”

  “Soon as things settle down. Dolan sent a letter to Fort Stanton askin’ for soldiers.”

  Isobel studied the young man whose limp, blond hair hung almost to his shoulders. “Thank you for this information,” she said.

  He smiled. “I reckon John Kinney and the rest will hightail it up from San Patricio when they hear what McSween’s done. Dolan thinks his posse will be here by this afternoon.”

  “And then?”

  “A shootin’ match, I’d guess.” He backed toward the door, keeping his eyes on his prisoner. “I’ll be outside if you need me. Just holler.”

  “What is your name, sir?”

  “Ike Teeters. I’m from Seven Rivers.”

  “You’re in the Seven Rivers Gang?”

  He chuckled, showing a row of uneven teeth. “Not hardly. My eyes don’t see too good from a distance, ma’am. Truth be told, my shootin’s downright pitiful. But I can do guardin’ work. I’m fine at that.”

  “Why don’t you wear spectacles, Ike?”

  “I ain’t got the money. Chisum pushed my family off our land, and it’s all we can do to get by.”

  “John Chisum?”

  “Who else? Us Seven Rivers folks is small cattle-men—law-abidin’, hardworkin’ fellers—and we can’t do nothin’ against a powerful man like him. We joined Dolan to fight Chisum.”

  As he was shutting the door, Ike poked his head back in. “I’ll see if I can get you a doctor, Mrs. Buchanan.”

  As he spoke, John Kinney’s posse rode into Lincoln and began shooting at the McSween house, their bullets shattering windows and gouging holes in the adobe walls. When the Regulators returned fire, Isobel spotted Noah on the roof. His black Stetson moved back and forth behind the parapet.

  The gunfight raged until sunset. As darkness brought an end to the shooting, Ike managed to slip Dr. Taylor Ealy across the street to the Cisneros house. The missionary doctor hurried to Isobel’s bedroom with his bag of medications and bandages.

  “Dr. Ealy,” Isobel couldn’t contain herself as he brushed aside her hair to take a look at her shoulder. “Can you get a message to Noah? Please help me save my husband’s life!”

  “Your husband? I see things have taken an interesting turn since that hasty wedding in the forest. Good thing I got nowhere trying to annul your marriage.”

  “Noah and I are still married?”

  “In the eyes of God and the territory of New Mexico you are.” The doctor patted her hand. “Now, you must try to rest. With more than sixty gunmen on his side, McSween has the advantage. Dolan’s posse numbers just forty.”

  “Is it all-out war, then?”

  “Only God knows,” he said as he placed a clean bandage on her wound. “I’ll try to speak to Sheriff Peppin about you. If you’re being held for the death of Jim Jackson, you deserve the chance to post bail. If Dolan is holding you hostage, it’s illegal.”

  As he prepared to leave, gunfire again erupted on the street. Ike Teeters burst into the bedroom. “Doc, you better get back to Tunstall’s store. They’re shootin’ it out again, and I’m only supposed to protect Mrs. Buchanan.”

  Dr. Ealy hurried for the door.

  “Take my message to Noah!” Isobel called out. But the door slammed behind him. As she crawled into bed, she breathed a prayer for her husband’s safety. She recalled his vivid blue eyes, his bronze skin, his dark hair, his gentle hands. Dear God, she lifted up her prayer. I’m responsible for one man’s death. Please keep it from becoming two.

  Dawn on the fifth day of Isobel’s imprisonment brought the customary pop of gunfire as the sniping began again. She changed into a dress Ike had found in the house, a simple gown of pale yellow cotton. As bullets slammed into the wall outside, she washed and combed her hair. Then she knocked on her bedroom door.

  “Ike,” she called out. “I must speak with you.”

  He unlocked the door and stepped into the room. “Yer lookin’ spunky this mornin’, Mrs. Buchanan. I’ve just about got yer breakfast ready.”

  The loaf of bread and pot of coffee was more food than many people in town would have by now. Supplies were running low, and children would be hungry.

  “I can’t eat, Ike.” She held her aching shoulder. “I must see my husband. Will you escort me across the street?”

  “Aw, I can’t do that, ma’am. It’s against Dolan’s orders.”

  “Please, Ike! After I talk to Noah, you can bring me back here. Hold a gun on me if you like.”

  The young man scratched his scraggly locks. “It’d be risky. Things is hot out there this mornin’.”

&nb
sp; “Just let me go—”

  “What on earth is that?” At the sound of shouting and horses’ hooves, Ike bolted to the window. Isobel rushed to his side.

  “What’s goin’ on, ma’am? I can’t see nothin’.”

  “It’s soldiers from Fort Stanton,” she cried.

  “Wahoo! That means we got the army on our side, Mrs. Buchanan!” Ike did a little dance around the room. “Count ’em for me, would ya?”

  “There’s Colonel Dudley,” she said. “Four officers. Eight…nine…ten…eleven black cavalrymen. More than twenty white infantrymen. And they’ve brought cannons!”

  “It’s the howitzer!” Ike whooped as he squinted to see. “Dudley’s brung the howitzer! She’s a twelve-pounder. And there’s a rapid-fire Gatling gun comin’ along behind. Dolan’s won the war now. Mac might as well give up.”

  Isobel sank onto a chair and buried her face in her hands. It was too late. Too late. The soldiers had come to obliterate Alexander McSween’s forces. Among the dead would be Noah Buchanan.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Before Colonel Dudley and the soldiers could take positions, Isobel saw several Dolan men run to Alexander McSween’s house and begin pouring coal oil around the wooden window frames.

  “What do they mean to do?” she asked Ike, clutching his arm.

  “I reckon they’re gonna try to burn out the McSween bunch.”

  “Burn them!” Isobel rose to her feet, but Ike pushed her out of bullet range.

  “Don’t worry yerself none, ma’am,” he drawled. “That house is made of adobe brick. It ain’t gonna burn worth a lick.”

  “But the window frames. And the roof. Oh, Ike, you must take me across the street at once. I have to save my husband.”

  “Settle down, now. Tell you what. I’ll step outside and see if I can find someone who can tell me what the soldiers is plannin’.”

  The moment Ike left the room, Isobel pushed at the window casing in an effort to dislodge it. But the stout wood frame was embedded in adobe, and it refused to give. She ran to the door and tried the knob, but Ike had locked it. Frantic, she raced to the window again.

  “Noah!” she shouted. Taking up a chair, she began smashing it against the window. “Let me out, Jimmie Dolan!”

  “Hey, there!” Ike barged into the room. Isobel flew at him, fists pummeling as she tried to push past him. He grabbed her arms and shoved her back from the door. She stumbled and fell to the floor, sobbing.

  “What’s all this, ma’am?” Ike said after he’d locked the door behind them. He bent over her and laid a hand on her back. “You know I can’t let you out, Mrs. Buchanan. I got my orders.”

  She shrugged away from his hand. “My husband is in that house! I must see him.”

  “You wouldn’t get near McSween’s place even if I did set you free.”

  Her heart breaking, Isobel struggled up from the floor, ran to the window and looked out.

  Ike spoke softly as he joined her. “When McSween’s men saw Colonel Dudley was back in town, they hightailed it out of here. He ain’t got nobody left but the men in his own house. I hear they’ve stacked adobe bricks inside to make a barricade.”

  Isobel leaned her forehead against the window frame. Noah was inside Alexander McSween’s house. Noah and a few others. How could they hope to hold out against an army?

  “Where is the colonel?” she asked. “I must speak to him. If he fires those guns at McSween’s house, he’ll kill everyone inside.”

  “He’s setting up camp down the street. Dudley may be a hard-drinkin’ man, but he’s got some smarts, too. He sent messages tellin’ McSween and Dolan that he’s in town to protect the women and children. He said if anyone fires on his soldiers, he’s gonna blow ’em to kingdom come.”

  Isobel moaned. “That means Dolan’s men can fire on the McSween house without fear of hitting a soldier. But with troops everywhere, no one inside the house can shoot back. It’s not fair.”

  “’Course it ain’t. That’s war for ya.” Ike patted her arm. “Now let me bring in yer breakfast, Mrs. Buchanan. There ain’t nothin’ you can do. Anyhow, you won’t be the first widow in Lincoln County. Believe me.”

  Sauntering away, he unlocked the door, slipped through and relocked it from the outside. She could hear him whistling as he banged around the stove, preparing her breakfast.

  Isobel was given no opportunity for escape. Shortly after noon, Dolan’s posse filled the house. The men outside the locked door were laughing about their sure victory as they loaded their rifles.

  Unable to keep still despite the throbbing pain in her shoulder, Isobel drew a chair to the window. Some of Dolan’s men approached the McSween house and began to pry loose bullet-torn shutters, and smash windowpanes with their rifle butts.

  She had no doubt that Alexander McSween must die. How many would die with him? Noah Buchanan…Billy Bonney…Sue McSween? She had barely thought of the woman when out of the house marched Mrs. McSween herself.

  Head up, she strode down the street toward the torreón. If anyone could stand up to an army colonel, it was Sue McSween with her sharp tongue and quick mind.

  But the moment she was safely away from the house, Dolan’s men began pouring coal oil over the windows. A flame sprang up at the back of the house near the kitchen. A pillar of smoke rose as the fire crawled from one room to the next.

  Isobel sat helpless at her window. Her throat ached from choking back tears. Several times she was certain she saw Noah’s silhouette, but he took cover before she could call out to him. Smoke poured from the windows as hazy figures moved around inside.

  Murmuring prayers, Isobel saw images of Noah flicker through her thoughts. The evening he had lifted her onto his horse and carried her into the shadows of the pines. She could recall the smell of him…leather and dust. She remembered his clean-shaven face, the handsomest she had ever seen. She thought of the tender way he had held her, kissed her, loved her. His clear voice rang through the valley with hymns. His strong hands wrestled cattle…and wrote stories.

  Oh, Noah! If only she could change the past.

  “Naw, she’s Buchanan’s wife!” Ike’s protest carried into her room. “Leave her be, fellers.”

  “C’mon, Ike. Let’s have a look at her. Ain’t she the one sent Snake Jackson hoppin’ over coals?”

  “Yeah, Ike! Let’s take a gander at Buchanan’s woman.”

  “Boys, if I did that, ol’ Dolan would skin me alive.”

  Someone guffawed. “He means to string her up for murder, don’t ya know?”

  “Murder?” another hooted. “Hoo-wee!”

  Isobel swallowed at the thick knot in her throat. Murder? But of course. What chance would she have to prove her innocence? Dr. Ealy had treated her wounds, and the surgeon had felt no compunction over lying about the condition of John Tunstall’s corpse. He could certainly make it look as though she had not acted in self-defense but had stabbed Snake Jackson to death.

  Feeling ill, she studied Mac’s house—enveloped in raging flames. Now Sue McSween marched back down the street to her burning home and went inside, seemingly oblivious to the conflagration.

  Moments later, Sue left again and crossed to John Tunstall’s store, where Susan Gates and the Ealy family had hidden. At once, the Dolan posse began to set fire to that building. Mary Ealy ran out of the store carrying the two children and set them on the road. Her husband followed with a stack of Bibles in his arms. Susan raced outside with textbooks in hand and slates under one arm.

  “Susan!” Isobel cried, pounding on the window. “Susan, please look at me!”

  But now soldiers drove a wagon to the front of Tunstall’s mercantile. The troops quickly loaded the Ealys’ few possessions into the wagon. The Ealys and Susan climbed on board, Susan clutching one of the little girls in her arms, and the wagon rolled away.

  “Susan!” Isobel yelled her friend’s name one last time, but the petite red-haired schoolteacher evidently had seen too much. White-faced, she
stared blankly ahead, her large gray eyes fixed on nothing.

  The wagon made a final trip from the Tunstall store as darkness fell over the valley. It carried Sue McSween’s organ, more of Dr. Ealy’s books and a large sack of flour. By this time flames had raged through the entire McSween house. The blaze lit the mountains on both sides of town. Shooting increased until all Isobel could hear was the crack of gunfire and the roar of flames.

  She hung against the window frame, not caring whether she died by a random shot. No one could still be alive inside the burning house. Noah was surely dead. She ached with hopelessness. But just then, she saw several figures suddenly run from the back of the house. Gunfire intensified. A silhouetted man crumpled to the ground.

  For a moment the shooting halted.

  “McSween said he’d surrender,” someone shouted outside her door. “Bob Beckwith is goin’ in after him.”

  From the window Isobel tried to make out what was happening. She heard a voice cry out from the yard of the burning house. Alexander McSween?

  “I shall never surrender!” he roared.

  At his words bullets flew. Bodies tumbled to the ground. Rifles blazed away. Dolan’s men poured out of the Cisneros house, leaving Isobel completely alone.

  She saw more men—Regulators who had tried to save their friends in McSween’s house—jump from the window of the Tunstall store. Dogs barked. Flames leapt higher.

  Sounds of victory erupted from the McSween courtyard as Jimmie Dolan’s men began to prance about and fire their guns in jubilation. Isobel sank onto her chair, watching the devilish dance around the fire.

  “McSween’s dead!” someone crowed as he ran past her window, a jug of whisky in his hand. “McSween’s dead! McSween’s dead!”

  “How many killed?” another man cried from the porch of the Tunstall store.

  “Got ’em all. All the Regulators are dead!”

  “Six dead in the courtyard!” someone else called out. “Naw, five. All shot dead. McSween’s one of ’em!”

  “Wahoo! We got ’em all. Every last one of them blasted outlaws!”

  Isobel covered her face with her hands and began to cry. Noah…beloved Noah. Dear God, let him rest in peace.