Hot Lead and Cold Apple Pie

by Anne Garboczi Evans

  “Want to play a round of checkers?” His blue eyes looked black in this darkness.

  She stood up to light a lamp. “A drunk slug could win at checkers. What about chess?”

  All four legs of Cal’s chair struck the ground. “He could not.”

  She struck a match. A faint acid smoke rose as she extended the match toward the oil lamp wick. “Who?”

  “The slug.”“Oh.” Throwing open the china cupboard door, she dug out the chess set. “Black or white?”

  “Either,” he said without turning around. The sandy-brown back of his head had a classic quality, short-cropped hair outlining firm angles. Slouching back in the dining room chair, hands on his gun belt, his leather vest tight across his back, he looked tough enough to best any gunman. She wouldn’t care to tell him, but she couldn’t have picked a better partner with whom to ride against the Silverman gang. To save Uncle Zak…

  Pressing her lips together, she set the chess board down. The first game she won, just like she ought, especially since Cal didn’t know the first thing about how to fully utilize his bishops.

  He won the second game, but he’d spent so much time staring at each move before he made it that the clouds had rolled back and the moon was coming up. She was just setting up the pieces for the third game when Cal turned to the clock behind the table.

  “Straight up twelve. Ready to check on our prisoner?” His voice was calm, as if he’d done battle with gangs a thousand times before.

  A knight fell out of her hand and a pawn clattered to the floor as Ginny jumped. “Yes!”

  ~*~

  It could have been her imagination, but the lawn around the sheriff’s office looked darker than the rest of the street, as if it sensed the presence of a sinister gang member. The door to the office swung open in the breeze. That was a good sign. She distinctly remembered closing it when she left.

  “Psst,” she called over from the lilac bush she crouched behind. “Think she’s gone?”

  From behind the shrub where he hid, Cal pointed. “See the tracks leading out from the door through that field?”

  Tracks, good thinking. She should perfect her tracking skills before being elected sheriff. “So leave now or in the daylight?”

  His gaze didn’t move from the tracks. “She must be a very new recruit. The trail she left is unmistakable.”

  Ginny shrugged. “I’ve never even seen her ride a horse before.”

  He nodded. “Maybe she was part of the counterfeiting ring, never took part in the stage coach robberies or cattle rustling.”

  “Which would explain her white hands.” Ginny adjusted her crouch to make it less painful on the lower calves and turned toward him.

  “I say we wait a few hours. She’ll be easier to track in the light, and those mountains are perilous by dark.”

  “What if it starts raining?” She glanced up, but no cloud obscured the night sky.

  “The way she’s moving, it would take a flood to hide her tracks. Also, I don’t trust the posse in the dark. They’re more likely to blow off each other’s heads than the Silverman gang’s.”

  Sadly, true.

  ~*~

  As Ginny followed Cal into the house, he kept his hands on his holsters, a classic law enforcement pose. And between the third and the fourth glance, she had to admit it looked good on him. There just wasn’t any plausible way, and she had tried to manage that look in a skirt.

  The moon lit the path in front of them, lending a particularly mysterious aura to the evening air. The front door even had the theatrical decency to creak when they re-entered the house.

  The oil lamp in the dining room had blown out, probably from the wind, so darkness covered the house.

  “Want some food?” She circled around dark shadows of furniture.

  “What?”

  “It’s past midnight and we just played three games of chess—well, two really—and started the tracking of a dangerous criminal. Aren’t you hungry?”

  “I suppose…” His voice sounded doubtful, but he didn’t protest much when she lit a small candle and started digging in the icebox.

  “Beef or fish?”

  “Um…”

  Beef, definitely beef, with a slab of cheese on the day-old sourdough that Miss Lilac had baked, perhaps with a teaspoonful of mustard and relish. She rummaged in the bread cabinet, raided the larder, and hunted for a clean spoon. Finally, two gorgeous sandwiches sat on the one clean plate in the house.

  Setting the plate on the counter, she hopped up beside it, legs dangling. With her pointer finger, she nudged Cal’s sandwich to his side of the plate. “All yours.”

  Standing next to her, his chest half-blocked her view of the entrance to the stairs. When the sandwich had reached the crescent shape of half-eaten, which only took him two bites, he smiled at her. “It’s good. Thank—”

  The barrel of a pistol slid around the door to the stairs. “Who’s there?” called a squeaky voice with a distinct edge of terror from behind the wall.

  Sandwich still in hand, Cal turned.

  “It’s just me. Put down the gun, Cherry, before you hurt somebody.” Ginny let go of Cal’s shoulder to wipe her fingers off on the skirt of her dress. In the act, her elbow hit the candle and it went crashing to the floorboards below. Fortunately, it extinguished itself without catching further household goods afire.

  Just then, Cherry appeared around the doorframe with a small light in her hands. Her hair was in curlers and a lavender robe wrapped around her waist.

  Ginny extended her last half of sandwich. “Hungry? And you should know, it doesn’t do much good to point the gun around the corner, if you can’t see around that corner.”

  Holding her own tiny candle out as far as her arm could reach, Cherry peered through the expansive darkness. “I was just going to pull the trigger and then when someone screamed I’d know they were dead.”

  “What if you hit an innocent party?” A match struck into light, and Cal’s voice rose from the ground where he held the fallen candlestick.

  Cherry jumped six inches off the floorboards and her robe flapped back, revealing a white nightgown with a gardenia print. “Cal’s here?”

  “Yes, I am.” Standing up, he set the candle a further distance away from Ginny and went back to his sandwich.

  With a little shriek, Cherry clapped her hand over her mouth and then removed it to talk. “You two, together, at this hour?”

  Ginny nodded. “Want half a sandwich?” She extended it again.

  “That is entirely inappropriate. As self-appointed chaperone after Auntie Lilac falls asleep, which gets earlier every year, I think her eyes closed at seven tonight, I have to object—strongly! Not that I always believe in chaperones, you know, but I try to do my best at whatever task I undertake.”

  “Now really, Cherry, it’s my kitchen, not my bedroom.” Hopping off the counter, Ginny started the work of reloading the icebox. Beef went on top of cheese, just as she liked it. Helped preserve the flavor, in her opinion, though Mrs. Clinton said it didn’t matter which way the foods went in.

  Cherry crossed her arms. “You’d be surprised how many children started their lives in kitchens. I expect it could be related to all the good food and cooking aromas.”

  The last bit of Cal’s sandwich dropped out of his hand onto the plate with a plop. He swallowed his last bite hastily and started backing out the door. “Five o’clock tomorrow morning, track down the gang?”

  Ginny nodded and clapped the rest of the dirty plates into the sink. “Got it. And don’t forget to pack a side of beef and the pies I baked last week.”

  Halfway out the door already, he stopped. “Why do we need a side of beef, or pies for that matter?”

  “Empty stomachs are noisy. Wouldn’t want a gang member shooting toward a stomach growl, would you?”

  He stared at her as if she was daft. “Um…”

  Cherry opened her mouth.

  “Good night.” Before Cherry could say anythin
g else, he moved out of the kitchen into the dark rooms beyond.

  15

  Five in the morning and still dark, but the posse had gathered at the outskirts of town as promised. Hushed whispers and the noise of horses moving restlessly filled the fog-covered area. A few sprinkles of misty rain wove their way down from the sky above, but not enough to wash away tracks.

  Cal surveyed the motley posse, who would be taking on the worst that the Silverman gang and Bloody Joe with his years of criminal experience could throw at them. About fifteen men rode in the posse…and Ginny.

  For one second, he caught himself watching her. She’d found a gun belt and buckled it around the waist of the dress that flapped around her legs. By torchlight, her face looked whiter than normal. As she stood on the ground by her horse, her hair brushed back against the animal, matching its mane and coat. She looked so—

  He snapped himself back to the task at hand. He’d let her come with the posse until they found the campsite, and then he was making her stay back. Besides Ginny, he had the most faith in the cowhands’ shooting ability, and Peter Foote seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. The rest of the posse consisted of older men like Mr. Clinton, many of whom appeared to possess less than ample amounts of backbone. Oh, and one couldn’t forget Silas.

  A few feet away, Silas had already mounted his horse and was flapping the reins as he bounced up and down on the mount. “Got to save the sheriff. Got to save the sheriff,” he repeated in a low, sing-song mutter.

  Cal took a deep breath. He’d had all day yesterday to come up with his plan. Here it went. With one jump, he mounted his sorrel. “Follow me.”

  As the hours passed, the sun snaked up over the tree line, slowly dissipating fog and turning dank air into warmth as they wound their way up the mountain crests. A stray tuft of black thread caught on thorns or thistles helped the tracking, but with the way the widow had zigzagged back and forth, her trail was impossible to miss. And the earth, softened by yesterday’s rain, left distinct imprints at each place her steed had stepped.

  Halfway through the afternoon, they were only a few miles southwest of the mine. Cal looked back behind him. Silas clasped a bandanna to his sopping forehead as he jounced up and down on his horse. The cowhands leaned over their horses, chins jutted forward in silent resignation as their mounts plodded forward.

  Ginny brought up the rear, right next to Peter Foote.

  Cal narrowed his eyes. She never rode in the back. Never, unless she was riding there because of Peter. The two of them were sunk deep in conversation. No point thinking about that. His job was to get this whole posse through the next hours alive.

  Twisting on his horse, Cal put his finger to his lips. “Quiet, we’re getting close.” Peter subsided into abrupt silence. Good. For an instant, Ginny met his gaze. No fear in those eyes, just resolution and trust. She trusted they’d free her uncle and she’d make it home alive. He swallowed hard. If the Silverman gang captured her…

  Well, he would just have to make sure that didn’t happen.

  They crested the next slope. Cal focused his eyes on the skyline ahead. A thin trail of smoke worked its way up through the trees below. With a sharp hand motion, he moved the posse back and slipped off his own sorrel.

  Soon the fifteen men and Ginny gathered around him in a circle.

  Hands on his holsters, he spoke in a harsh whisper. “We leave our horses here and go on foot. There’s a campfire ahead. Any questions?”

  Not a word, not even from Ginny. He surveyed the somber faces in front of him. This was different than leading other Texas Rangers into combat. Sure, there was always the element of danger and wondering if they’d make it out alive. But these were civilians, untrained civilians no less, and he was leading them up against the deadliest gang in all of the West. If he botched this operation, there would be a lot of widows in Gilman tonight.

  He looked at Ginny. Standing there on the slope under the evergreens, her eyes looked even more green than ordinary. Her tanned hands grasped two pistols, elbows locked in to support the weight. He should have made her stay and enjoy what little safety the town of Gilman still offered. Yes, Ginny could shoot straighter than any man in Gilman, but she was a woman. A woman. Cal dug his teeth into his lip as he tried to suppress the memory of Isaacs’s bloodied body, and it would only be worse for a woman.

  Cal shook his head to clear it. She’d be safe enough if she stayed behind this crest and even the town of Gilman wouldn’t be safe for much longer if they didn’t defeat the Silverman gang. He looked back at the posse. “Ready?”

  “Anything for the sheriff,” Silas said. The rest nodded, large eyes set in solemn faces.

  “Come on, then.” Dropping to the ground, Cal started up the last stretch of the hill. The bottom branches of the spruces trembled as he belly-crawled forward.

  So far, so good. Behind him, he heard the others following. Then, he reached the crest of the hill.

  Supporting himself on his hands, he inched his eyes above a small boulder.

  Below, a valley spread out. Trees hid distinct movement, but he could see moving shapes and a trail of rising smoke. The chomp of tied horses and the glint of sun reflecting off metal rose from across the tree-branch obscured clearing.

  He felt something soft at his right arm and twisted back. Ginny squirmed up next to him, the stomach of her dress now covered with pine sap. “That them?”

  His hand went out to pull her back from the ridge line, but he stopped himself. She only had her eyes above it and was being just as safe as he was. He swallowed hard.

  “The Silverman gang?” She rested a hand on the boulder.

  “I think so.” Letting go of the rock, he slid down to safety behind the skyline.

  She followed him, sitting inches away in pine needles.

  He slid his hand over hers on the dirt. “Ginny, I need you to stay here as lookout.”

  Ripping her hand away, she sat up straighter. “You know full well that’s not happening, Cal Westwood. So don’t even try.”

  “You’d disobey a direct order from the acting sheriff?” His gaze fixed on her. Ginny’s green eyes looked so innocent, the gold fleck in her eye catching the sunlight. He should have made her stay in Gilman because, even as lookout, she’d likely see bloodshed by the end of this day.

  “With pleasure.” Ginny clamped her hands on the butt of her revolvers.

  “Then, I’m binding you to a tree.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  Turning, Cal motioned the posse in closer. They crouched beside him, shielded by the rocks.

  “This is the plan.” Cal leaned forward. “I’m sending four of you around the eastern edge of the camp with Peter Foote to outflank the gang.”

  Far off, a crow shrieked and overhead the wind rustled through the pine needles, but not a posse member spoke.

  “Stay on the high ground, rifles at ready. Another five of you will go around to the west.”

  “I’ll lead them.” Ginny scrambled down the incline to face him.

  He grimaced. “No, you’re the lookout and I don’t mean maybe.” He looked to the other posse members. “I’ll lead the rest from here. When you see my party reach the bottom of this hill and enter the trees surrounding the clearing, that’s your signal to start firing. Understood?”

  Sixteen heads nodded.

  “And make sure you have a clear vantage point to shoot gang members…not us.” Such basic information shouldn’t even need to be said, but with this posse, he wanted to make sure.

  Heads nodded again.

  “Let’s go.” His voice was hard.

  Ginny opened her mouth.

  “Hurray! We’re going to save the sheriff!” Silas waved his gun above his head and charged over the hill.

  Cal leaped up, but Silas already crested the hill and hurtled down the other side.

  A moment that felt like hours passed as Cal motioned the posse back down the hill to remount. Before one foot had touched a stirrup, t
he entire hill exploded in gun shots.

  Rough-looking men rushed out of the underbrush, scrambling up the incline from all directions. The sun glinted off pistols as unshaven faces intruded into the clearing.

  “Thought you could outsmart the Silverman gang?” A sparse man threw his head back and laughed. In a circle around the posse, a dozen gang members surrounded the hillside, guns pointed in.

  Cal looked at the posse members, who still stood on the pine needle-covered earth, eyes wide with terror. “Drop your weapons.”

  The Silverman gang didn’t have a good reputation with prisoners, but at least surrendering would buy time. Trying to get the draw on the Silverman gang with the kind of posse he had was suicide plain and simple.

  Ginny went for her revolver.

  “No!” Guns trained on him notwithstanding, Cal jumped for her, but she was too fast.

  Up over the incline of the boulder she went. Her feet fell from under her, and she went tumbling headfirst down the other side of the slope into the valley below. Even as she fell, she wrestled with her gun belt.

  His heart pressed against his chest as he waited for the gunshot from behind to end her run. Instead, a man who matched Bloody Joe’s wanted pictures stepped out of the trees below. His meaty hands grabbed at Ginny.

  She kicked the man in the knee. With a string of oaths, the man hopped on the other foot and slammed one hairy arm across her chest, pinning her.

  Cal looked down to his gun belt, up to the dozen bloodthirsty men with guns trained on him, and back to Ginny.

  Bloody Joe pressed a gun to her head. “Bring the prisoners down here, Smith,” he called up the hill. “And help me with this fool.” Bloody Joe jerked his chin, pointing to a still-alive Silas.

  Five feet away from Bloody Joe, and apparently under the impression that the man’s gun was pointed at him, Silas pressed his hands into fists, eyes bravely squeezed shut. “Just keep running, posse people. I don’t mind dying.”

  Pistol muzzles motioned back and Cal stepped away from the outlook. He could have killed Silas himself right now. But that was beside the point. Hands in the air, and a pistol dug between his back ribs, Cal followed the gang’s lead down to the campsite below.