by Steve Hayes
‘Ellie wasn’t there. ’Cording to one of the sisters, she left a few days ago for another mission.’
‘Oh, that’s too bad.’ Though sad for him Ingrid felt a glow of relief. ‘So will you be going there next?’
‘I’m considerin’ it.’
‘Is the mission far away?’ Raven asked.
‘Far enough,’ Gabriel said. He fell silent and Ingrid shook her head at Raven, warning her not to bother him again.
Shortly, they turned down Depot Street, a narrow road that led to the train station. The railroad had paved it when they laid the tracks and then gone on to build a fine stationhouse – three large wood-frame buildings with slanted roofs that shaded passengers waiting on the platform.
Parking the wagon by the entrance, Gabriel unloaded the valises while Ingrid and Raven entered the stationhouse to buy tickets to Sacramento. From there, according to Reece’s last letter, they could catch a Southern Pacific branch line to Old Calico. ‘I only mention this, sis,’ he’d written, ‘in case something unforeseen happens & I can’t meet you or send one of my men to meet you.’ He’d ended the letter by saying: ‘I’m looking forward to seeing you again, Ingrid, & of course Raven, whom I’ve seen so seldom. Have a safe & comfortable journey. Respectfully yours, your loving brother, Reece.’
Gabriel carried the bags to a shady bench on the platform and waited for Ingrid and Raven to join him. With Ellen gone and a posse hunting him, he realized he had no reason to stay in New Mexico or any of the other states in which he was wanted. California, on the other hand, looked mighty appealing. He would be close to the three people who meant most to him and finally free of the stigma: ‘horse-thief.’
Or would he, he wondered. Stadtlander was a vindictive man capable of cruel, ruthless reprisals. In the years Gabriel had worked for him he’d seen how Stadtlander held grudges against people for the slightest offense. And Gabriel’s offense wasn’t slight: he had killed the rancher’s son, Slade, his only remaining flesh and blood, and he doubted if Stadtlander would ever forgive him. More likely he’d use his wealth and influence to track Gabriel down wherever he went. And once he found him, he’d stop at nothing to kill him. Pinkerton agents, bounty hunters, legitimate lawmen – all would be hunting Gabriel for the big reward Stadtlander was bound to offer.
No, Gabriel thought bitterly, there was only one way to end this continuing vendetta and that was to kill Stadtlander—
‘Train’s due in ten minutes!’ Raven’s excited voice interrupted his thoughts.
He turned as she came running up to him. ‘Sounds like you can’t wait to get rid of me.’
‘Quicker the better,’ she quipped. ‘I don’t mean that,’ she added quickly. ‘I’m gonna miss you. Lots.’
‘Me, too.’ He curled his arm around her slender waist and pulled her down on his lap. She made no attempt to break loose. And when he looked into her big black eyes he saw tears welling into them.
‘Be sure’n take good care of your mother, y’hear?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘An’ write me.’
‘How will I know where you are?’
‘Because he’s going to write to me,’ Ingrid said, joining them. She handed Gabriel a slip of paper bearing her brother’s address. ‘And in that letter he’s going to tell us where he is and how he’s doing, isn’t that right, Gabe?’
‘Yep. So you see,’ he told Raven, ‘you got no excuse for not writin’. Now, give me a big hug, scout, an’ then let me have a minute alone with your mom.’
Raven hugged him, her tears wetting his cheek. ‘I love you,’ she whispered. ‘And I will write. You’ll see. You just better write back!’
He squeezed her, feeling emotions he’d never thought existed in him and then released her. He felt her spring away from him and watched as she ran off down the platform.
‘It’s not too late to change your mind,’ Ingrid said. ‘The stationmaster said the train isn’t full. And you know how much we’d love to have you come along.’
‘Maybe one day,’ Gabriel said.
She sensed he was evading her question and saw a glint in his eyes that frightened her.
‘Oh, my God,’ she exclaimed. ‘You’re thinking of killing Stillman Stadtlander, aren’t you?’
He wanted to say no but he couldn’t to lie to her.
His silence confirmed she was right. She knew then she’d lost him and she felt cold and empty inside.
‘Men,’ she said angrily. ‘You make me so mad. You’re willing to throw away everything just to fight windmills.’
‘This particular windmill’s tryin’ to kill me an’ he won’t stop till one of us is dead.’
‘All the more reason for you to come to California.’
‘Like I told you once before – runnin’ ain’t the answer.’
‘Getting killed to prove a point is?’
‘I don’t aim on gettin’ killed. But if it’s in the cards, then so be it. I know how to die standin’ up, Ingrid.’
It was the first time he’d called her by name and the fact that he’d waited until now, when it was too late to matter, only made her angrier.
‘Oh yes. I’d forgotten. The code! Your precious code!’ Tears of pent-up rage and frustration now ran down her cheeks. ‘Well, Mr Gabriel Moonlight, let me tell what I think of your code. I think it’s just an excuse men made up so they can ride around slaying dragons, dragons that could easily be ignored but have to be killed so men can feel noble and brave even if it costs them their lives and hurts everyone around them—’
He kissed her, cutting off her angry tirade. Surprised, she responded with more passion than he’d expected. Then both of them heard a distant train whistle and felt the ground trembling and knew it was over.
‘I’m goin’ now,’ Gabriel said, releasing her. He stood up, towering over her, surprised by how much the kiss had affected him. ‘When I get back to town I’ll sell your wagon an’ team an’ send you the money.’
‘Keep it,’ Ingrid said, fighting not to cry. ‘It’ll pay for your ticket should you ever feel like coming to see me.’
She watched him walk away, tall and wide-shouldered, his long-legged strides soon carrying him to the end of the platform and on around the stationhouse, out of sight.
‘Momma, Momma, the train’s coming!’
‘I know, lamb. I hear it.’ Ingrid wiped her tears away and turned to her daughter. ‘Can you believe it? We’re on our way to California.’
Raven nodded and turned to face the oncoming train, trying as she did not to think about how much she would miss Gabriel.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The hostler was sweeping out the livery stable when Gabriel drove up in the wagon. The old gray-bearded man leaned on his broom and stared at the gunfighter in surprise.
‘Didn’t ’spect to see you again, son.’
‘Forgot to say adios to the mice.’
The hostler chuckled and spat at a spider scurrying for cover, drenching it in tobacco juice. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Lookin’ to sell this rig. Know anyone who might be interested?’
‘Mebbe.’ The old man walked slowly around the wagon and horses, sizing them up. ‘How much y’askin’?’
‘Make an offer.’
‘Gotta talk to a fella first.’
Guessing the hostler had a buyer in mind Gabriel untied the Morgan from the rear of the wagon, stepped into the saddle and thumbed at the cantina across the street. ‘When you’re ready, old timer, I’ll be in there. But keep in mind the money’s for a widow with a young’un, so make your offer fair.’ He nudged the Morgan in the direction of the cantina.
Two tequilas chased by a beer and a plate of tortillas and beans later, Gabriel saw the hostler push in through the swing-doors. Pausing long enough to let his eyes grow accustomed to the dimness, he came bustling over to Gabriel’s table.
‘Don’t know if it’s fair or not,’ he said, placing a wad of bills before Gabriel, ‘but two hundred’s all
I could rustle up.’
‘Horses alone are worth that, if not more.’
‘Take it or leave it, Mr Jennings.’
Gabriel instinctively dropped his hand to his gun.
‘Got no call to shoot me, son. I coulda kept the money an’ the rig if I’d felt inclined. But you been square with me, so—’
‘Get to the meat, old timer.’
‘Sheriff’s got his deputies combin’ the town for you.’
‘You tell ’em I was here?’
‘If I was younger, sonny, I’d take offense to that.’
Gabriel sighed wearily, stuffed the money into his pocket and got to his feet.
‘They headed this way?’
‘Only a matter of time. Soon as Sheriff Akins told his men ol’ man Stadtlander had upped the price on your head, they set off like a pack of hungry dogs.’
Gabriel felt a surge of anger. ‘Is he here – Stadtlander, I mean?’
‘Sheriff’s office, last I heard.’
‘How many guns with him?’
‘Six or seven. But you won’t have to deal with ’em. They’re out helpin’ the deputies hunt you.’
Gabriel offered his hand to the hostler. ‘’Bliged.’
‘You’da done the same,’ the old man said. ‘Now git.’
Keeping to the backstreets Gabriel rode toward the sheriff’s office. As if sensing the urgency of his mission, the normally irascible Morgan made no attempt to be skittish or buck him off; and though Gabriel still didn’t trust it, the horse remained docile and obedient, following every command Gabriel gave it.
Sun beating down on them, they cut through the Mexican section of town. Dirt streets, adobe hovels, fruit stands, leather shops, children with outstretched hands clamoring for him to stop – all reminded Gabriel of his years of exile south of the border. It also increased his determination to end Stadtlander’s hold over him.
They entered a sun-bleached alley striped with shadows. Barely wide enough for two horsemen to pass, it led between the backs of several buildings to the rear of the jail adjoining the sheriff’s office. Two saddled horses stood tied to a hitching rail.
Gabriel dismounted, looped the reins over the rail and pulled his Winchester from the saddle boot. Pumping a shell into the chamber, he followed the blank wall of the jail to the end and then ducked into another, narrower alley that ended at Main Street. Keeping close to the wall Gabriel peered out and saw wagons, buckboards and riders passing by, townspeople going about their business, and two old timers jawing outside the sheriff’s office. He waited impatiently for them to stop arguing and stomp off in opposite directions and then walked casually along the sidewalk to the front door. It opened at his touch and he ducked inside, finger on the trigger, ready to shoot anyone who opposed him.
The office was empty. He moved quietly to an inner door that he guessed led back to the jail. Pushing it open with his rifle, he peered inside – and saw a young, one-legged jailor dozing in a hard-backed chair. Gabriel poked him with his Winchester. The man came awake instantly and froze as he saw the rifle and who was holding it.
‘Easy,’ Gabriel warned. ‘Tell me where Mr Stadtlander is an’ you can go back to sleep.’
‘With the sheriff. ’Cross the street havin’ a drink.’
‘Place got a name?’
‘Garrett’s.’
Gabriel nodded and tapped his rifle butt against the jailor’s head, knocking him senseless. Taking his keys, Gabriel re-entered the office, locked the door, threw the keys under the desk and walked out.
No one paid attention to him as he crossed the busy street to Garrett’s, a small wood-fronted building with traditional bat-wing doors named after the sheriff who’d killed Billy the Kid. Ducking into an alley beside the saloon Gabriel entered through a back door. To his left was a storeroom, to his right a kitchen and directly ahead a door leading into the bar. Gabriel inched it open and peered through the crack.
A bartender was pouring whiskey for three cowboys at the bar. Behind him, above the cash register and a display of liquor, hung a gilt-edged mirror in which Gabriel could see the reflection of Sheriff Samuel Akins and Stillman Stadtlander.
The two men were talking at a corner table, a bottle of rye before them. Gabriel made sure no one else was in the bar then pushed open the door and covered Stadtlander and the burly, mustachioed lawman with his rifle.
Everyone but Stadtlander froze. The tough old rancher, shoulders hunched over from arthritis, chuckled as if seeing an old friend and shook his head in admiration.
‘I was expectin’ you to make a play, Gabe. Barkeep, another glass.’
‘Save it,’ Gabriel waved off the bartender. ‘Won’t be here long enough for a drink.’
‘Don’t be a damn fool,’ Sheriff Akins told him. He was a big man, full of self-importance, but he had a woman’s voice. ‘Y’ain’t goin’ nowhere. You so much as step outside an’ my men’ll cut you to pieces.’
‘I just come from outside, sheriff. Not a deputy in sight. You,’ Gabriel wagged his Winchester at the bartender who was reaching for something. ‘Bring your hands up real slow and don’t let me see anythin’ in ’em.’ Then as the bartender slowly obeyed: ‘Come out from behind there.’
He waited until the bartender was in front of the bar then turned back to Stadtlander and the sheriff.
‘So what happens next?’ the rancher asked him.
Gabriel set the rifle on the table next to him and let his gun-hand drop beside his holster.
‘I was hopin’ we could end our differences right here an’ now.’
Stadtlander grinned mirthlessly. ‘I’d like to oblige you, son, but it seems the Good Lord has other plans.’ He raised his gun-hand and Gabriel saw arthritis had turned it into a half-closed claw. ‘Throw in my broken ribs, gimpy leg an’ bad back an’ you’d get more fight from a blind gandy dancer.’
As he finished speaking one of the cowboys at the bar moved slightly. That movement, twitch, saved Gabriel’s life. His eyes flicked in the cowboy’s direction – and in that instant he saw in the mirror the reflection of Stadtlander’s other hand reaching under the table and drawing a derringer from his boot.
He drew his Colt and fired, so quickly the bullet knocked Stadtlander from his chair before the derringer cleared the table.
Sheriff Samuel Akins threw up his hands and blurted: ‘I ain’t drawin’ against you, Moonlight. Y’all can see that.’
Gabriel ignored him. Stepping close to Stadtlander, he kicked the derringer aside and looked down at him.
Stadtlander lay on his back, blood seeping from his shoulder, teeth gritted against the pain. ‘W-why didn’t you kill me?’ he said bitterly. ‘Can’t you see I got nothin’ to live for?’
‘Windmills,’ Gabriel said, holstering his Colt. ‘I’m all through fightin’ ’em.’ Picking up his Winchester he prodded the sheriff with it, forcing him to stand up. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Where?’
‘Pick up our horses.’
Stadtlander raised up on one elbow. ‘You arrogant pup! You really think you can just ride out of here?’
‘That depends on Sam, here.’ Gabriel turned to Sheriff Akins. ‘When we get outside, I see any of your deputies or Stadtlander’s men pointin’ a gun at me, I’ll put a bullet in your spine. May not kill you right away but you’ll surely wish it had.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Raven was depressed.
A sudden thunderstorm over the Cookes Range, followed by torrential rain, had turned the local creeks and gullies into dangerous, fast-moving rivers. A flash flood had also washed out the railroad tracks twelve miles east of Deming, forcing the train on which she and her mother were traveling to stop.
Hunched down in her seat in the passenger car, she sat with her nose pressed against the window, glumly watching the rain lashing against the glass and wondering how long they would be stuck here.
Two hours earlier she had asked the conductor the same question. He hadn’t been much help. He’d te
legraphed the stationmaster at Deming he said, and workmen were on their way, but in this kind of weather who knew how long it would take them to get here. Hours, days, maybe even weeks. He winked at Ingrid to let her know he was joking, and then continued on.
One of the four well-dressed, silver-haired men playing poker across the aisle turned to Raven and remarked that she should consider herself lucky.
She could tell he was being condescending and disliked him immediately. ‘Oh? Why’s that?’
‘Be polite now,’ her mother whispered.
‘Back in the ’70s, little gal,’ the man said pompously, ‘’fore the Iron Horse replaced Mr Butterfield’s stage line an’ that hellion Geronimo was runnin’ wild, you would’ve been more concerned ’bout keepin’ your pretty hair than a little rain storm.’
‘No, I wouldn’t,’ she said. ‘Geronimo wouldn’t have bothered me. Go ahead an’ laugh,’ she said as the man and the other players chuckled, ‘it’s true. My grandpa saved the life of Almighty Sky, medicine man of all the Mescaleros, and from then on the Apaches were our friends.’
The story sounded preposterous, but Raven spoke with such sincerity it was hard not to believe her. The four poker players exchanged questioning looks. Then the pompous man tapped the ash from his cigar and turned to Ingrid, who was quietly crocheting, and inquired: ‘Is that true, ma’am?’
‘Sure is,’ a voice said behind them.
Everyone turned and looked at the tall, rain-soaked man standing by the door. He’d just entered and water from the brim of his old campaign hat and yellow slicker was pooling around his boots.
‘I can vouch for it. Apaches saved my life an’ it was all on ’count of her an’ her mom.’
The pompous man cleared his throat. ‘I’m very sorry, little gal,’ he began. ‘I didn’t mean to insinuate—’
He got no further. Raven, who like her mother had been staring at the stranger in shock, now jumped up and ran to him.
‘G-Gabe!’ she flung herself into his arms and burst into tears. ‘W-what’re you doing— I mean, h-how did you get here? I never thought I’d see y-you again!’