by Penny Hayes
With Bill more than half dead, Margarita could not imagine Sam wasting his time trying to drag the stricken outlaw along. She thought she understood men. Especially these men. She had been dead wrong.
She turned all thoughts to finding medical assistance' unnoticed assistance. Colter's doctor? Out of the question. He would turn her in at first opportunity — assuming she could get him to cooperate to begin with. And, no doubt, cooperation would have to be at gunpoint. Who then? The druggist? What was his name? Henry. Yes, she could probably bribe the druggist. It seemed that it would be much easier to buy off a druggist than to threaten a doctor.
She assumed the bribe would have to be plenty. She would enter the drugstore just before closing; invite him to her hotel room; entertain him until nightfall. If that wasn't enough, there was always money. Together they would ride to her partners. When Henry was finished fixing up Bill, she would have Sam get rid of him — and get her money back.
A little more than an hour after the ill-fated robbery attempt, Margarita was back in her room again. She had avoided the hotel clerk's questioning eyes as he looked at her disheveled appearance. "A tub of hot water immediately," she ordered as she breezed by. "And a delivery boy at once."
The boy arrived within five minutes and was sent to the women's apparel shop with an exact list of what Margarita wanted. He was to be back in one hour. No sooner.
During that hour, Margarita threw aside her filthy clothes and bathed. She could take no pleasure in the almost searing heat of the hot soapy water, only seeing Bill's fevered eyes as he lay on the ground looking up at her through the falling rain. Near death or not, a sense of mortal fear of the man overpowered her. She closed her eyes, trying to force her mind away from today's enormous problems.
Right on time came the expected knock on her door. Wrapped in a sheet, she let in an embarrassed young man loaded down with boxes. Hurriedly he set the packages on the bed and left.
Margarita waited until ten minutes to five before leaving the hotel. She looked striking now in a new bottle-green silk dress. Her hair, clean and striking, was carefully but loosely combed back, allowing it to catch the day's light in gentle waves. In a white woolen purse was concealed her gun. Thoughtlessly running a finger across her scar, she took no pleasure in her fresh appearance.
The rain had given way to warm rays of bright sunshine, and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior of the drugstore. With effort she called out cheerily, "Henry?"
"Back here," came a gravely voice. An old, old man rose from behind a counter near the rear of the store and came toward her. Completely bald, his face criss-crossed with hundreds of tiny lines, he had no teeth except for one near the front. A white shirt, held against his bony chest with suspenders, was spattered with tobacco stains from the day's attempts and misses at a spittoon somewhere out of Margarita's sight. He was bent with age.
"You're Henry?" Margarita asked incredulously. This was no one she could entertain until nightfall. She doubted he would last an hour. And he would never do to help Bill.
"And who might you be?" he asked, leaning heavily against the counter.
"A friend of a friend," she answered lightly. She didn't know what old Henry's role might be when someone brought a wounded victim into the store and the doctor was away, but doubted he was able to venture very far on his own. Even now he was shaking where he stood. No, he would never do.
As if to verify her observation, Henry said, "Guess I'll set a might," and shuffled unsteadily to the center of the store with the aid of a cane to ease himself down with a groan into the same chair the injured cowboy had occupied a couple of weeks before. "An' who's this here friend of yours?"
Margarita named the only person with whom she was even remotely acquainted. "Julia Blake." Even as she said it, the answer came like a flash of lightning. Julia could help Sam! Henry probably only directed Julia's movements whenever she tended an injured man.
Wonderfully, the old man's next words confirmed the fact. "Fine lady next to my wife, rest her soul," he said, looking at Margarita with puddly yellowed eyes. "Does everything around here from runnin' the place when I'm feelin' punk to fillin' in when the doc's out. She'll be along any minute if you wanna visit. Store'll be closin' soon." Henry opened his mouth and yawned widely, finishing with a "Ho, ho hum."
"Thank you," Margarita said, turning her back on the decrepit old man, thinking about the whole new life Julia Blake was about to begin.
Chapter Six
The bell tinkled overhead as Julia entered the drugstore carrying a small package wrapped in brown paper. "Here's your sandwich, Henry," she called out cheerily, closing the door behind her and sending another tinkle of sound throughout the quiet little store. She glanced Margarita's way. "Why..."
"Old friend to see you, Julia," Henry announced, and pointed a shaking bony finger at Margarita who had been tensely browsing about the store while she waited.
"Goodness, I never dreamed of seeing you again." Julia spoke in tones of amazement.
Margarita nodded curtly. She became uneasy under Julia's openly studious gaze.
"Be with you in a minute," Julia said to her, and went to Henry's side. "Here, Henry. Enjoy your sandwich. Would you like your spittoon beside you?"
"Naw, jest bring me the small can, thank you. Wouldn't want a lady handlin' somethin' like that ol' brass mess."
Patting him affectionately on a thin shoulder, she gently chided him, "Now you know, Henry, that I clean that ol' brass mess every day. It's no trouble at all." She walked to the rear of the room and brought back the spittoon, setting it beside his chair.
Margarita had to work at speaking pleasantly. "I saw something in the window I liked. May I show you?" She led Julia to the store front in an attempt to get her as far from Henry as possible.
Both women bent slightly over the object Margarita had fixed her attention upon, a small mirror encased in a delicate silver stand.
Julia spoke softly — and coldly. "Two of your men were shot this morning. Is that why you're here?"
An overwhelming wave of fear washed over Margarita. How, in God's name, did this woman know that? How? No matter. She knew!
Margarita warned severely, "If you think anything of that old man back there, you'll do exactly as I say." Her hands shook violently as she nudged Julia slightly in the elbow with her purse.
Glancing down at the woolen bag, Julia nodded in understanding.
Margarita spoke quietly. "I need medical help — and I can't bring the doctor. You seem to know what to do. Tell the old man you're going on a trip. You won't be back for a few days." Bill was going to require her at least that long.
"That's a ridiculous reason," Julia answered bluntly. "I just got back from traveling, a few weeks ago — as you well know."
Margarita was aghast. Did this mean that the saleswoman even knew who had robbed her? It appeared so. But howl How did she know these things? Did she know who the rest of the gang was? Their names?
Sweat broke out in tiny beads on her forehead. Beneath her dress perspiration began to trickle down her sides. She was angry with herself for her fear and enraged with this Anglo for having caused that fear. She leaned close to the woman. "You do what I tell you, senorita. Tell Henry whatever you have to. Bring what you need to help my partner. If you don't obey, old Henry is muerto." She turned and faced him, her purse held menacingly before her.
Julia turned abruptly and walked over to her employer, kneeling by his side, Margarita following closely. "Henry, dear," Julia said, "This lady has invited me to visit. It's a few days drive from here. She's asked me to come so often that I feel guilty saying no to her once again. Maude can fill in for me."
"You jest got back," he protested.
"I know," Julia answered. "But it's an area of New Mexico I haven't seen."
"You gonna bring back new dust?"
"I hope so."
Margarita barely heard Henry's strange questi
on. All she heard was the name Maude.
"Who's Maude?" she asked a little too sharply.
"His niece," Julia responded, standing. "She helps Henry when I can't." She addressed the old man again. "I'll just take some things along. Maude can lock up for you this evening."
"Go ahead," Henry agreed reluctantly.
Julia walked behind a counter with Margarita close by her side. There would be no hidden guns to trick her. Julia bent down and collected several drugs from a low shelf and put them into an already bulging black leather medical bag — a good sign for Bill that Julia probably doctored regularly when Colter's doctor was not available.
As she began to rise, Margarita put a firm hand on her shoulder. "You can't leave like that. The satchel's a dead giveaway. Do something. Fast! Make up some excuse."
Leaving the bag on the floor, Julia ripped brown paper from a large roll on the countertop. Squatting, she wrapped the bag, then bound it with heavy brown string. "I'll take some knickknacks with me," she called to Henry, "and try to sell some for you."
When he didn't respond, Margarita glanced his way. "He's asleep. Let's move."
"I must go get Maude first," Julia said.
"Where is she?"
"She lives about a mile outside of town."
Margarita could barely conceal her frustration at this new turn of events. Impatiently she said, "All right, damn it, let's get going. Where's your buggy?"
"Outback."
Margarita saw that she would need the hotel clerk to return her rig after she checked out. She could not just abandon it.
They left the medical bag in Margarita's room while she and Julia went for Henry's niece. Forty-five minutes later, Julia, Margarita, and a scarecrow of a woman with a prominent hook nose, entered the drugstore. All the way back to town Maude had bitched continuously that Julia had given her no notice. "The only time I ever see you, Julia," she had said in a constant shrill voice, "is when you need me to fill in for you. I ought to be working there full time and you well know it." The woman had nearly driven Margarita out of her mind.
Margarita stood just inside the doorway, listening to every word spoken as Julia made final arrangements with Maude and Henry before leaving.
The two women returned to the hotel to retrieve their belongings, Margarita keenly alert to any sign Julia might give to the desk clerk that she was in danger. But there was none.
Seated in the buggy once again, Julia leaned toward Margarita and inquired sarcastically, "And now, do you bind and gag me?"
Feeling that somehow she was being made fun of, Margarita replied through clenched teeth, "We leave Colter and hole up somewhere till nightfall."
Julia laughed mockingly. "Hole up? You are a bandit, aren't you? No one else would use such a silly expression." She laughed again.
Margarita felt a surge of anger at Julia's ridicule. She, Margarita, was doing the abducting, yet Julia seemed to be the one in control.
"I'm not sure I'm up to holing up," Julia acknowledged. "Why don't we just make life easy and simply wait at my place until dark?" She added, "I don't expect things are going to be the same again for a while."
Margarita noted with some satisfaction the tiredness in the tone. "Where is your place?"
"Back toward Maude's." Julia gestured with her bead. "Not quite as far."
"Who else is there?"
"No one."
"Where's everyone else?"
"There is no one else. I live alone."
"Alone? Women don't live alone unless their man's gone."
"I do. My parents are both dead. And there is no man."
"Why?" Margarita pulled the buggy up in front of the hotel.
"Why not?"
Because, thought Margarita, women do not normally live independently. They are laughed at and thought of as odd — as old maids. Who wanted to die all alone? She would rather be shot or hung as a bandit. She said, "I don't believe you."
"You'll have to trust me. It would be more pleasant and just as safe as hiding in a ditch somewhere."
"We'll see."
Julia drove the buggy directly through the open doors of a small red barn. Margarita watched her unhitch the horse and put him in a stall. Julia rubbed him down while he munched on oats and hay and sucked thirstily from a bucket she had filled from a trough just outside the door. Margarita offered no help, not daring to be distracted even slightly.
Julia unlocked the rear door of a small two-story house surrounded by several piñon trees. The much cooler air that flowed from inside was almost a caress against Margarita's hot cheeks as she followed Julia through the doorway and into the kitchen. She noticed instantly the harmony within the house itself. This was a home where only one person could possibly live. It was far too neat. The dwelling was obviously decorated to please only one person's eye, but anyone looking at Julia's home would have been deeply charmed. Windows were decorated with soft green and blue curtains, with a matching tablecloth on a round table surrounded by four spindle backed chairs. Yellow flowers in a tall slender vase rested in the center of the table. Against a wall, china gleamed from the shelves of a red oak hutch. Canned goods were stacked neatly on shelves built into the walls. The stove looked freshly blackened, and a wide plank floor gleamed chalk white from countless scrubbings.
Julia walked through the kitchen and into the parlor, trailed by Margarita whose hand was still in her purse. Impatiently Julia turned on her. "Oh, put that damn thing away, Margarita. I'm not going anywhere until you tell me to, and no one is coming by that I know of. If they do, I'll take care of it. Now, relax."
Margarita said nothing but did remove her hand.
In the living room, Julia flopped into an over-stuffed chair near the door and wiped a slender hand across a light sheen of moisture on her brow. "Good lord, Margarita, do sit down." She spoke with exasperation. "I feel like you're going to shoot me at any moment." She closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the chair.
Two big chairs and a large couch, each covered with the placid colors of large orange roses and green leaves, dominated most of the room. The use of such colors struck Margarita as odd but at the same time, sensible. Lanterns, their chimneys clean of soot, sat on small cherry tables near the couch and chairs. Overhead hung a five-lantern wagonwheel chandler suspended by link chains of silver. A fireplace of stone, clean of ashes, took up much of one wall. In front of the fireplace lay a thick, brightly printed carpet that sank beneath Margarita's feet. Two very well done paintings of mountains and streams hung on the walls. Margarita thought briefly of her own dingy dwelling; she did not long dare compare their two homes.
She drew her attention back to her prisoner. Surprisingly, Julia had dozed off; her head lolled slightly to one side, and she snored very gently. How could she possibly sleep at a time like this?
Margarita stared at her and at a tan throat exposed by the white opened-neck dress of linen. She studied the soft skin of Julia's cheeks, and the red lips — lips more scarlet than normal, sensuous lips that would fill a man with passion. Again Margarita wondered about this woman. Any lady as beautiful as she was had a man. Why did Julia Blake not conform to this rule?
Julia's fingers dangled over the edge of the chair. Once in a while she would twitch in her sleep. Without explanation, Margarita wanted to take her in her arms and comfort her seeming vulnerability.
She waited patiently until her captive awoke an hour later. Margarita's first words were: "We'll have to ride double on your horse. Wear long underwear and pants and a warm shirt and coat. And heavy boots. A hat, too. It gets cold traveling at night. Do you have such clothes?"
"I do," Julia answered briefly. "My father's."
Just before dark, they changed to men's attire. It was a relief to Margarita to put on her riding clothes even though they were dusty and dirty from previous wearings and being crammed for days into a small suitcase. She felt even better when she wrapped her gunbelt around her waist.
Margarita had Julia pack enough provisions for themselves and Sam and Bill, for the return journey to the meadow. They would have to eat sparingly, but they would make it.
They walked out to the barn where, by a single lantern, Julia saddled the horse and then led him outside. She bolted the door behind her as she had the house. A quick glance around the place by lantern light seemed to satisfy her that everything was in order.
Margarita tied the medicine bag and a cold lantern freshly filled with kerosene behind the saddle, securing them tightly with leather thongs. The saddlebags were already crammed with her dress, shoes, and food.
It was time to ride.
Julia doused the lantern and left it to cool beside the back door of the kitchen. She mounted up, then removed her foot from the stirrup so that Margarita could climb up behind her.
As the women made their way past the house and onto the road, clouds completely hid the stars and moon. They rode steadily for ten minutes when suddenly Margarita said, "Someone's coming. Hold up." She wrapped an arm tightly around Julia's waist as she listened, pulling the woman hard against her chest. She reached for her gun with her free hand. "Pull off." Her grip tightened even further. In the darkness, Julia guided the horse out of sight behind a clump of trees.
"Not a sound," Margarita warned softly. A whiff of Julia's perfume assailed her. She drove the scent from her consciousness.
As the riders drew nearly abreast of them, Margarita could tell by the sound of the horses' hooves that there were only four. So Bill and Sam had gotten safely away. They had been too long on the trail to be outwitted by an occasional town posse chasing after badmen, and, too, the rain had been an immense help.
The women sat for another few minutes before moving. Self-consciously Margarita discovered she still had her arm around Julia, and let go.