Rain dripping from her slicker, her hair plastered over her face, Nantan stepped to the table. Rivette, raised to be a gentleman, got to his feet and a blushing, grinning Sam Tatum did likewise.
Oates made the necessary introductions. Then Lorraine rose and rushed around the table. “You poor thing,” she said to Nantan as she began to unbutton her slicker, “you’re soaked through.”
Her eyes moved past the girl to Daley who was lifting a sooty coffeepot off the stove. “Hey, Daley,” she yelled, “after you’ve done that, move your lazy ass and bring me a towel.”
“I’ve only got two hands, Lorraine,” Daley said, setting the pot and cups on the table.
“Nobody knows better than me how many hands you got, Daley.”
Nellie, looking prim, said, “I declare, Lorraine, you’re such a whore.”
“Takes one to know one, Nellie,” Lorraine said.
Daley looked at Nantan as all three women now fussed over her, then to Oates. “First time I’ve ever had an Apache in here. Usually they’re outside whoopin’ and hollerin’, if you catch my drift.”
“Sorry,” Oates said.
“Lipan, ain’t she?”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“A man spends enough time around Apaches, he knows.” Daley shrugged. “I’ve never had no trouble with Lipan.”
The man turned away and walked behind the bar. Oates was uneasy. While he’d been talking to Daley he was sure he’d heard Nantan say the word “wife.”
Now Stella confirmed it. “Well, congratulations, Eddie,” she said, grinning. “I never took you for the marrying kind.”
“I’m not married and she’s not my wife,” Oates protested. “We didn’t have a churchin’ or nothing like that.”
“You could do worse, Eddie,” Rivette said. “She’s a right pretty girl.”
Then Shamus, the big, ugly, broken-nosed Irishman, did something strange. He stepped to the table, dropped a huge ham of a hand on Oates’ shoulder and said. “I can’t say it in Apache, but a Mescalero woman taught me their wedding chant—”
“Damn it all,” Oates said, “I told you, I’m not married.”
“If Nantan says you’re married, you’re married,” Lorraine said. She looked at Shamus. “Let the happy couple hear the wedding chant, Irishman. That ought to seal their bond, like.”
Shamus took a breath and, his hands pounding a drumbeat on the table, chanted.
Now you will feel no rain,
for each of you will be shelter for the other.
Now you will feel no cold,
for each of you will be warmth to the other.
Now there will be no loneliness,
for each of you will be friend to the other.
Now you are two persons,
but there are three lives before you: his life, her life and
your life together.
Go now to your dwelling place to enter into your days
together,
and may all your days be good and long upon the earth.
After Shamus was finished speaking, there was a round of applause. Rivette bowed and said, “Please sit at the table, Mrs. Oates, and have some coffee. It will warm you.”
Stella made a place for the girl beside Oates and he was freed from commenting on the wedding issue when Rivette said, “Eddie, I guess that was you back at the ridge when I was pinned down by the McWilliams riders.”
Oates poured coffee for him and Nantan, then nodded to the gambler ’s bandaged chest: “You took a bullet.”
“It could have been worse. You saved my life that day.”
Oates looked around the table, still hardly able to believe what he was seeing. “How did you all end up here?”
Rivette spoke up. “After I left the ridge, I knew I was hurt bad. Then at nightfall I saw a blazing fire on top of a mesa. I figured only you could be that dumb, Eddie. Anyway, I needed help, so I was willing to take a chance.”
Sam Tatum said, “It was my fault, Mr. Oates. I lit a fire too close to the tree.” The boy looked miserable. “I do silly things sometimes.”
“We all do silly things, Sammy,” Oates said. His eyes angled to Rivette. “Especially someone as dumb as me.”
Rivette caught the look and smiled. “Sorry, Eddie. Like I said, you’ve changed considerably, so being dumb doesn’t apply anymore.”
The gambler pulled the coffeepot and a cup toward him. He inspected the inside of the cup before he poured, then said, “The ladies here patched me up as best they could, but they knew I needed rest. We set out for Heartbreak, but I couldn’t make it, so I told them to detour here and we’d hole up until I recovered my strength.”
Rivette found a cigar in his shirt pocket, bit off the end and Stella lit it for him. Through a cloud of blue smoke he said, “Bill Daley used to have a clip joint on the San Francisco waterfront and one time I helped him out in a shooting scrape. He wrote me a letter before I drifted to Alma and told me he’d gone straight and was running the Cuchillo stage station with Shamus here. I figured he owed me a favor.”
Daley overheard and grinned. “Helping me out in a shooting scrape means he killed two men and wounded a third. They were trying to roll me in an alley, but made the mistake of drawing down on Rivette.” He nodded. “I’ll say I owe him a favor.”
“You’re lucky you found us, Eddie,” Stella said. “We’re heading for Heartbreak tomorrow.”
Then Oates told them the bad news.
Chapter 29
Warren Rivette stayed his hand as his cup was halfway to his mouth. He set the cup back on the table without tasting the coffee.
“Pete Pickles took a contract on Stella?” he asked, his handsome face stiff with shock.
Oates nodded. Earlier he’d told the others about Darlene McWilliams’ plan to marry Tom Carson and how she’d already moved her cattle onto the rancher’s grass. Then he described his meeting with Pickles and how Nantan had met the man on the trail to Heartbreak.
“Warren, do you know this man Pickles?” Nellie asked.
“I know about him,” Rivette answered. “I’ve heard some named guns, no pushovers themselves, say he’s the most dangerous man west of the Mississippi. When Pete Pickles accepts a contract to kill a man, from then on in that man is as good as dead.” He looked at Stella with bleak eyes. “Or woman.”
Nantan spoke for the first time. “He seemed such a nice man. He gave me a present of”—she turned to Oates—“what do you call them, Eddie?”
“Bloomers.” Oates looked at Rivette. “He’s posing as a bloomers salesman.”
The gambler’s fingers moved to the Colt in his shoulder holster, as though it brought him a measure of comfort. “Pete Pickles can be what he wants to be. He’s what the Navajo call a shape-shifter, a man who can himself turn into any animal he chooses. Now, Pete can’t become a wolf or a coyote, but he can present himself as a preacher, a frail old woman, a bloomers drummer . . . anything that will help him get the job done. He’s the original wolf in sheep’s clothing.
“He offers a money-back guarantee, but he’s never yet had to forgo his fee, no.”
“How many men has he killed?” This came from Lorraine, who looked strained and more than a little frightened.
“I don’t know exactly, but he set himself up in business at the end of the War Between the States and by this time the number of his victims could be in the hundreds. Most times Pickles kills with a rifle, but he’ll use a garrote, knife, poison, fire . . . whatever suits his purpose.”
Lorraine touched the back of Stella’s hand with the tips of her fingers. “Honey, there will be law in Heartbreak,” she said. “We’ll be safe there.”
Rivette said, “Eddie, can you and Nantan leave with us tomorrow at first light? There’s safety in numbers on a watched trail.”
Oates nodded. “Sure we will, though a man like Pickles will tend to be sudden.”
“That’s a chance we’ll have to take. We’ll have four women riding with us and the
only description he’ll have of Stella is the one Darlene McWilliams gave him.”
“Pickles will recognize me all the same,” Stella said. “He’ll know I’m the one that’s doing the trembling.”
After a breakfast of elk steak and eggs provided by Daley, Oates and the others saddled up in the thin, predawn light. The rain had stopped for now, but the black sky showed no promise of a brighter afternoon.
Daley stood beside Rivette’s horse and looked up at the gambler. “I wish I could send Shamus with you, Warren,” he said. “He’s a good man in a fight, but I need him here when the stages arrive.” His eyes pleaded for understanding. “You see how it is with me.”
“You’ve already done enough, Bill, and I’m beholden to you,” Rivette said. “We’ll meet again soon.”
“Buena suerte, mi amigo,” Daley said. “And ride careful.”
Rivette was still weak from his wound and Oates took the point as they rode into a glowering morning that offered nothing but a keening wind and the prospect of rain to come.
They rode directly south, across rolling land forested with ponderosa pine and juniper, here and there passing ridges of bare, granite rock. Nantan caught up with Oates and told him it was here that she’d met Pete Pickles.
Oates looked around him and nodded. “It’s bushwhacking country, no doubt of that,” he said. “Stay with me, Nantan, and keep your eyes skinned.”
After an hour they left Mud Spring Mountains behind them, then swung to the southwest and headed for Palomas Creek. Farther to the west lay the deeply gouged breaks of the Salado Mountains, a bastard child of the vast Black Range.
The rain started as Oates and Nantan rode up on the creek. They sheltered under the cottonwoods and waited for the others.
“You know the first thing I’m going to do when we reach Heartbreak?” Lorraine said as she huddled against the trunk of a tree.
“No, what?” Stella asked.
“Have a hot bath, then head down to the nearest ladies’ shop and buy me a new dress and shoes. Oh, and a hat with flowers on it.”
“I hope you do, Lorraine,” Nellie sniffed. “You’ve been traipsing around the country long enough in a shift that’s all in rags and a coat not even a tramp would wear.” She looked around at the others, huge raindrops falling over them from the cottonwood branches. “You know what I’m going to do?”
“Do tell,” Lorraine said. “You’re such a dear.”
“Check into the hotel, have a bath, then roll into a soft bed with feather pillows. I plan to stay there for a week at least.”
“How will you eat?” Stella asked.
“Lorraine will bring me food, won’t you, Lorraine? You can wear your nice, new dress so you don’t lower the tone of the place.”
Stella smiled. “We’re all looking pretty shabby. If we’re to open our own house, each one of us needs new clothes.”
“I’m gonna get more paper and pencils,” Tatum said. “Then a peppermint candy stick.” He looked around at the people watching him and added defensively, “Well, I like candy sticks.”
“How about you, Eddie?” Lorraine asked.
Oates shrugged. “I don’t rightly know,” he said.
“Buy a dress for Nantan, to match her new bloomers,” Nellie suggested.
“That’s a thought,” Oates said. He looked at Rivette. “How about you?”
“Belly up to a poker game. Who knows? Maybe I’ve finally outrun my losing streak.”
Nantan said nothing, looking a little lost, prompting Lorraine to ask, “What about you, honey? What do you want to do in Heartbreak?”
“Just be with my husband,” Nantan said, “as a good Catholic girl should.”
Oates was surprised. This time Nantan’s words didn’t trouble him a bit.
Stella looked up through the tree branches at the leaden sky. “Well, since we all have urgent reasons to be in Heartbreak, I suggest we hit the trail.”
“Right! Rain or no rain,” Tatum said. “We’re not made of sugar and we won’t melt.”
Stella smiled. “Sam, you’re as smart as a whip.”
Oates mounted before anyone else. “I’ll scout the country beyond the creek,” he said. “We think Heartbreak is right ahead of us, huh?”
Rivette said, “Yes, it is. Bill Daley said he rode past it one time, but never stopped there. He says once we clear the creek and head due south, we’ll ride right into Main Street, and Bill isn’t a man to lie, no.”
“I’ll take Nantan with me,” Oates said. “She’s a better scout than me.”
Helped by wide sandbars, Oates and the girl splashed across the creek and rode south under a roof of thunder, their heads bent into a slogging rain.
Nantan’s eyes were everywhere, on the way ahead and their back trail. She seemed uneasy, on edge, and Oates caught her mood.
He guessed that she had the same thought he did: when would Pete Pickles make his move?
The rugged hill country around Oates and Nantan was hemmed in on both sides by forested mountain peaks and rugged crags. The Rio Grande lay just five miles to the east, its often-turbulent waters making their way toward Texas and the Gulf of Mexico, and beyond the river lay the desert badlands.
Oates figured the elevation was about four thousand feet above the flat, but the land was rising sharply and forests of mixed juniper and aspen were becoming more common.
Nantan lay back, her head turning constantly as she searched the gray, rain-lashed land.
Oates knew the girl sensed danger, but was it here, now, or stalking their future? If he asked her, she wouldn’t be able to tell him. He knew that. Apaches had an instinct that warned them of hostile country, but they were seldom able to pinpoint a cause. They felt the threat deep in their being, like a man who turns and stares into the darkness, hearing soundless footsteps behind him.
Despite the rumble of thunder and the rattle of the downpour, Nantan was hearing something that deeply disturbed her . . . and Oates felt a coldness in his belly he recognized as fear.
Ahead of him the rocky crest of a hogback made a break between stands of aspen and he rode in that direction, hoping for a better view of the terrain.
Oates reached the top of the hill and his face split into a delighted grin. “Nantan,” he yelled, waving the girl close. “Look!”
A town lay at the bottom of the rise, a single street with a row of buildings on either side. To the west of town ran a fair stream, bordered by spreading cottonwoods, spanned by a well-constructed timber bridge. A cluster of outlying shacks lay to the west and north, several grander houses among them.
Even from a distance, the place looked worn and weather-beaten, the still, shabby buildings silver gray behind the shifting veil of the rain.
But to Oates this was a great city, every bit as fabulous as glittering Dodge City, a welcome, warming sight for the weary traveler.
“Heartbreak,” he said, taking Nantan’s hand. “Girl, we made it.”
Nantan’s black eyes searched into the distance. “The women of this town do not cook, or light fires against the chill of the morning?”
Oates looked at her. “I’m not catching your drift.”
“Where is the smoke?”
His gaze shifting to the town again, Oates studied the rooftops. He saw plenty of chimneys, but no rising smoke. Uneasily, he checked each window that was visible. All were in darkness. Surely, in a dreary, gray day, the town merchants would have lit lamps to banish the gloom, and so would the saloons.
There was no one on the street or boardwalks, not so unusual in itself as the townspeople would try to avoid the rain, but the very absence of human activity added to the desolate, forsaken atmosphere of the place.
Oates did not want to face the stark truth, but the proof was down there, forcing him to accept it.
Heartbreak, their goal for so long, was a ghost town.
Chapter 30
“Maybe,” Stella said, “everybody’s still asleep.”
“It is early yet
,” Nellie said, “and people do like to stay late in bed on a rainy day.”
Lorraine’s eyes were bleak. “It’s a dead town. There’s nothing there for us.”
“It seems to me we should ride down there and take a look,” Rivette said. “Not much point in talking about it up here, no.”
“At least we can shelter from the rain, huh?” Nellie said, smiling.
No one answered, bitter disappointment tugging at all of them.
Oates and Nantan in the lead, they crossed the bridge and rode into the street. Windows stared at them with cold, unfriendly eyes and somewhere a forlorn door banged incessantly in the gusting wind.
The stores were empty of goods, and many of their doors stood open, as though their owners had left in a hurry and had never returned. A single hat, frilled with white net and decorated with red flowers, stood askew on a stand in the window of the New York Chapeau Shoppe.
Lorraine urged her horse onto the boardwalk, rode into the store through its open door and grabbed the hat. When she emerged, her battered old sombrero was gone and the fancy chapeau was on her head.
“I declare, Lorraine,” Nellie said, “that’s stealing. You’re such a whore.”
“It’s not stealing when nobody owns it,” Lorraine said. “And it takes one to know one, Nellie.”
They rode past a blacksmith shop, its forge long gone cold, then the Alamo, Sideboard and Last Chance saloons. All their windows were smashed and the roof of the Last Chance had fallen in along with one of its walls.
Set back from the street behind what had once been a well-tended lawn, now overgrown with cactus and bunchgrass, was the Bon View Hotel. It was a two-story timber building with fine balconies on both floors and it seemed to be largely intact, apart from a few broken windows and a front door that was off one of its hinges. But the place looked lost, as though it had wandered away from the town and couldn’t find its way back.
The doors of the livery stable were open, but the stalls were empty, and a soaked coyote slunk away as they rode up on the burned-out hulk of Solly Diamond’s Burlesque Theater and Dance Hall. Next door the First Bank of Heartbreak was also a charred shell, like the theater, probably the result of a lightning strike.
Ralph Compton The Man From Nowhere Page 15