“Nobody is going to hit you, Isabelle,” Sam said. “I should have seen this coming.” He turned her loose and she sank down onto her blanket.
“Mattie’s gone?” Almond asked quietly. “This is her sister, Isabelle?” He looked down at the woman, the fringed buckskins she wore. She had exchanged clothing with her sister when they had stepped out of the firelight.
“Yes,” Sam said. “This is Isabelle. Mattie got me. . . .” He looked off in the direction of the border, knowing she’d had all night to get a good head start on him.
On the blanket Isabelle settled herself and wiped her eyes on the buckskin shirtsleeve.
“She said to tell you she’s sorry, Ranger,” she said, sniffling. “That she didn’t do this to be spiteful—only that she couldn’t stop here, after coming this far.”
Sam still stared off toward the trail to Mexico.
“She said that, huh?” he murmured almost to himself, realizing there was nothing he could do now to shield her from learning what she might have done. All he could do now was hope to stop her, join her or slow her down enough to keep her from getting herself killed.
“Yes, she said that,” Isabelle replied, standing up again, looking closely at the Ranger. “She said that you would understand.”
“Yes . . . the trouble is, I do,” said Sam quietly, looking around the camp, then back to Isabelle. “Did she tell you to go on to Whiskey Bend with Almond and Ragland and wait for her there?”
“Yes, that’s what she told me to do,” Isabelle said.
Sam looked at Almond.
“Don’t worry, Ranger,” said Almond. “I’ll see her on to Whiskey Bend. Won’t nothing happen to her unless something happens to me first.”
“Obliged, Almond,” Sam said.
Sheriff DeShay walked in from the shadows, pushing back his hair and putting his hat on.
“What’s going on here?” he asked, seeing the Mexican, Morgan Almond, the Ranger and only one of the women standing in the firelight. “Where’s Mattie’s sister, Isabelle?”
“This is Isabelle,” Sam said. “Mattie and her traded clothes. Mattie tricked me. She slipped away in the night.”
DeShay looked the woman up and down, Mattie’s fringed buckskins, her plainsman’s hat, right down to the women’s shoes on her feet. Not seeing Mattie’s boots, he understood. The different footwear triggered recognition.
“Dang, Ranger,” he said, “don’t feel bad. They look enough alike, they would’ve fooled me too.” He shook his head and pushed his hat up on his forehead. “I take it she wouldn’t hear of riding back to town while we go on into Old Mex?”
“I should have seen it coming,” Sam said. “Maybe I should never have brought it up to begin with.”
He realized that in attempting to help Mattie, he might have put her into more danger, but it was something he wouldn’t explain to DeShay, at least not right now.
“She’ll be riding on the trail in front of us, Ranger,” DeShay said. “It’s a bad place to be.”
“I know,” Sam said.
“How do you want to play this?” DeShay said.
“I’m riding on ahead,” said Sam. “Maybe I can catch up to her before she runs headlong into some of Dad’s men. Throw some water on Fletcher and get him woken up. Get Almond, Ragland and Isabelle here headed to town. You and Fletcher catch up to me along the trail. I’ll keep watch for you.”
“You got it all, Ranger,” said DeShay.
Sam started to turn toward where the Mexican kept the horses, but Isabelle took him by the arm.
“Ranger, please bring her to me safely,” she said with a concerned expression.
“Don’t worry about a thing, Isabelle,” Sam said. “Get to Whiskey Bend and wait there. Your sister’s going to be all right. I’ll see to that.”
PART 3
Chapter 17
It had been only shortly after dark when Mattie Rourke slipped out of camp and walked her dapple gray quietly down to the same side trail the Ranger had taken earlier when he’d pursued the riflemen who’d killed the two prisoners. Wearing her long trail duster over Isabelle’s blue gingham dress she’d swapped her buckskins for, she had stepped atop her horse, gathered the dress up around her and ridden like the wind throughout the night.
Where deep rock shadows blackened out the trail, she’d slowed the dapple down for safety’s sake; when the horse began to slow its pace on its own, she’d stopped long enough to rest the animal. Otherwise, she’d made short work of the trail until the eastern horizon unfolded grudgingly above the coming day.
As she started across a stretch of flatlands, she saw in the purple starlit grayness the black silhouettes of wolves snarling and threatening one another over the night’s offering. Beneath her she felt the dapple gray grumble and try to sidestep away from the sound of the wolves. But she reined firm and kept the horse forwarded on the trail.
Drawing tight on the reins with her left hand, she slipped her rifle from its boot, cocked its hammer and held it ready as she passed the feasting animals twenty yards to her right. The wolves held back and stood protectively over their prey. Mattie made out what she thought might be the carcass of a horse and the body of a man—the rifleman the Ranger had gone after earlier? she wondered. She continued on, moving confidently and unhurriedly past them in the pale grainy light.
When she had judged the wolves to be over fifty yards behind her, she whispered to the horse, “Now you can run. . . .”
She batted her boots to the dapple’s side and put the horse up into a hard gallop, anxious to put the wolves and their grizzly feast behind her.
At the first streak of silver light to the left, she saw the trail in front of her edge upward back into the rocky hills. This was land she’d traveled before, although it had been years. She knew that somewhere on the upslope of this line of hills lay the border, and at some point below the dapple’s hooves she and her horse passed from the United States into Old Mexico.
Now to Valley of the Gun. . . .
Shortly after daylight, the rifle back in its boot, she had crossed the hills and headed back down to the next stretch of flatlands. Two miles into the barren flatlands, a raw morning wind filled with dust and sharp sand launched a passing assault on her and her horse. When she’d outridden most of the wind and the body of it fell away southeast behind her, she stopped the horse and stepped down. Taking off her duster, she shook it out. Looking off to the southwest, she stood holding the duster like some observing matador as she spotted two riders come into sight diagonally across the sandy flatlands.
Her first thought was to climb back atop the dapple gray and head back for the cover of the hills behind her. But the easy gait of the approaching riders caused her no alarm. Watching them draw closer, she folded the duster and stuck it up behind her saddle. Then she slipped the rifle back out of its boot and stood holding it ready in both hands.
“You’re close enough,” she called out, seeing both men studying her.
“Miss Isabelle?” said the younger of the two men, both of them wearing long dusters of their own. They reined their horses down and sat staring at her from fifty feet away, their faces and clothes as dust-covered as her own.
Hearing her sister’s name, she stood frozen and returned their stare, seeing what the men might reveal to her if she kept silent.
“It’s me, Frank Bannis,” the same rider said. He took off his hat, slapped it against his chest and rubbed a hand over his face, to better disclose himself. “Don’t you recognize me?”
“Easy, Frank,” said the older man beside him. “I believe she’s stunned.” He jerked his hat from his head as well, raising a small cloud of dust and said, “Ma’am, it’s me, Kerr.”
Recalling the name Isabelle had said when she’d told her the details of the story, Mattie nodded slowly and looked the two
men up and down.
“Yes, I recognize you, Frank,” she said. “You too, Kerr. Please forgive me. I’m afraid I am stunned. I’ve been riding so long.”
Smiling friendly, Bannis laid his hat on his lap and nudged his horse a step forward.
“You should remember me—you brained me with a skillet the other day at the wagon camp.”
“Knocked him daft as a cockeyed loon, is what you done,” said Kerr with a dark chuckle.
All right, stunned was the way for her to play this, Mattie told herself. Keep quiet, rely on what little she already knew and let them fill in the rest. They’d thought she was Isabelle without her needing to say a word. She was in a good position here if she kept them thinking it.
“And I’m terribly sorry for that, Frank,” she said, lowering the rifle in her hands. “I was afraid you’d kill my husband and in doing so get yourself killed by Dad’s churchmen.”
“I understand,” said Bannis. “May we step down?”
“Yes, of course,” said Mattie. “Do you have enough water to spare me a drink?”
“You bet we do,” said Bannis. He swung down from his saddle and reached for a canteen hanging by its strap from his saddle horn. “Were you riding to meet me at the dugouts, like you said you would?” He uncapped the canteen and held it out to her.
Mattie took the canteen and drank from it.
“I meant what I said, Frank,” Mattie said. “I was worried about hitting you so hard.”
“That means a lot to me, Miss Isabelle,” Frank said, “you coming to check on me. Fact is, we were riding all the way back to Munny Caves to see about you.”
“How is your husband after that terrible head whipping?” Morton Kerr cut in, giving Frank a stern look of reprimand.
“Oh, he’s sore, but he’ll be all right,” Mattie said, realizing the bad spot he would be in if it was learned that the beating he’d given Phillip Kendrick had killed him. She even wondered if the beating really had killed Kendrick, knowing the unstable frame of mind her sister had been in when she and her weakened husband had been left alone in the caves. “He’s still back at Munny Caves, recovering nicely. I left him there with the old Mexican cliff dweller—”
“So you could ride on ahead and check on me.” Bannis finished her words for her with a warm appreciative smile.
“Yes, that’s so,” Mattie said, returning the smile. “And I can’t tell you how relieved I am that you’re doing so well. I couldn’t have forgiven myself had something terrible—”
“Nonsense, ma’am,” said Bannis, cutting her off.
Kerr cut in, saying, “I always said he could use a skillet upside his head now and then, just to clear his thinking and settle him down some.”
“I couldn’t stand the thought of him putting his hands on you, Isabelle,” Bannis said.
“Bless you, Frank,” said Mattie. “It wasn’t as bad as it appeared. Look, you can hardly see it now that the swelling is gone.”
“That’s real good, Isabelle,” Bannis said. “I know I was out of line, beating a man for hitting his own wife. But there’s something about it that doesn’t sit right with me.”
“Even though every law in the land permits it?” Kerr questioned him. “The same as a man’s got a right to correct a dog or an unruly field animal?”
“Being the law doesn’t make a thing right,” Bannis said. “I’m only an outlaw and a long rider, but I know that much.”
“You were gallant and wonderful,” Mattie said, “and I will never forget you for it.”
Bannis smiled and looked embarrassed.
“I wouldn’t go so far as to say gallant and wonderful,” he said quietly.
“Neither would I,” said Kerr, giving him a look. Turning to Mattie, he asked, “Where are you headed now, to the new compound in Gun Valley, I reckon?”
New compound . . . ?
She hadn’t considered that Dad Orwick might do something like this, move the family compound after such a long period of time.
“Yes, that’s right,” she said, thinking on her feet. “I do hope I can find it, having never been there.”
The two men looked regretful.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Kerr said. “I forgot that only the new wives would know its whereabouts.”
“But I bet you do,” Mattie said quickly.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Bannis, “but I wonder what my reception will be after beating Kendrick half to death.”
“Your reception will be quite all right, Frank,” said Mattie. “I’ll simply tell Dad or Elder Barcinder that in a jealous rage, Brother Phillip attacked you, and there was nothing for you to do but defend yourself.”
Both men looked shocked.
“You—you would lie for me, ma’am?” he said. “I didn’t think you saints’ wives ever lied or did anything that—”
“We don’t,” Mattie said, cutting him off. “That’s why Dad and Elder Barcinder will have no choice but to believe me.” She paused, then added, “After all, Dad will know that you could just as easily have shot Brother Phillips down, yet you chose against it—out of respect for Dad and his saints.”
“Ma’am, I don’t know what to say,” Bannis whispered as if in awe. “I was telling Kerr that no woman has ever reminded me so much of my beloved ma than you.” He paused and caught himself. “I mean, not to say that you’re old enough to be my ma—just that you’ve always treated me so kindly when I’ve been around you.”
Mattie managed a paternal smile.
“The fact is, Frank, I am old enough to be your ma. Not by a lot, mind you,” she added, pointing a correcting finger.
“No, ma’am,” Bannis said, looking relieved.
“Then it’s all settled,” she said. “You two gentlemen will escort me to the new compound and I’ll square things for you.”
“Sounds good to us, ma’am,” Bannis said. He took back the canteen, capped it and draped it from his saddle horn. He held out a hand to assist her back into her saddle. “There’s going to be guards scouting all along the trail, but they’ll all recognize you, especially with us riding alongside you.”
Kerr stood eyeing the woman curiously as she adjusted herself, hiked her dress up and settled onto the saddle. He watched her take the reins Bannis had gathered and handed up to her.
When both men had mounted and their horses had fallen in a few steps behind the woman, Kerr leaned over and whispered to Bannis, “Does she look different to you some way?”
“What are you talking about?” Bannis asked as they lagged back a little.
Kerr considered it and then said, “I don’t know. She looks different, or acts different, or something.”
Bannis glared at him.
“That’s right—you don’t know,” he said, “don’t know what you’re talking about, or how hot it’s making me if you’re trying to say something untoward against this good woman.”
“Frank, forget it,” said Kerr, a little fearful, remembering the beating Frank had dealt Phillip Kendrick. “I’ve just been too long away from good folks, I suppose.”
“Yeah, that’s what I think too,” Frank said.
“But listen to me, Frank,” Kerr said. “For both our sakes and hers too, don’t forget how Dad doesn’t want any of his older wives around anymore. That’s why she doesn’t know where the new compound is. Dad keeps the wives from knowing much about what’s going on around them. They don’t even know where their own offspring are by the time they’re half-grown.”
“Yeah, I know all that,” said Bannis. He spit in contempt of Dad Orwick. “But if she wants to go there, I’m taking her. If Dad gets too much bark on I’ll deal him what I dealt Kendrick. This is a good woman, Morton. I’ll see to it she’s treated like one.”
“Jesus, Frank,” Kerr whispered as the two nudged
their horses up beside Mattie Rourke. “I’ve seen you worked up before, but never like this. Did that lick in the head cause you to act this way?”
Bannis ignored him and stared straight ahead. At the edge of the flatlands, he saw three riders pop into sight and ride toward them.
“Here’s some of those trail guards now, ma’am,” he said to Mattie, sidling up closer to her. “They’ll be churchmen most likely. Most of the gunmen like myself will have already taken their cut of things and lit out for a while, the way they always do.”
“Won’t matter, though, which they are,” Kerr put in. “They’ll let us on through.” They watched as the three riders put their horses into a gallop and rode toward them.
—
In a large stone, timber and adobe hacienda recently known as Casa Orwick, Elder Barcinder stood at an open window. Beyond the hacienda, smaller but similar homes stood on lower hillsides encompassing the western portion of the Valley of the Gun. Past Barcinder, three upper-ranking churchmen sat in high-backed Spanish-style chairs facing an ornately carved wooden and marble desk. Behind the desk sat Dad Orwick’s large thronelike chair. Dad’s long trail duster mantled the chair’s tall leather back; his wide-brimmed hat lay at the center of his duster.
With his hands studiously folded behind his back, Elder Barcinder walked behind the desk and stood beside the big empty chair facing the three men.
“Brethren,” he said, “as you all know it has been a long, hard endeavor, but I am happy and proud to say that upon Dad’s arrival last night, this lovely rugged valley that God has bequeathed us is now our home.” He smiled and raised his hands in front of him as if offering up two service trays. “Let all of us rejoice.”
The three men rose, nodded and clapped their hands. They remained standing until Barcinder’s hands turned palms down and pressed them gently back into their chairs.
“Now, then, while Dad is himself occupied with other matters, are there any questions I myself can answer for you?”
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