Crossing Fire River

by Ralph Cotton

  “Who are you and what are you doing here?” Shaw asked. He resumed wiping himself down with the cloth in his free hand while he held the Colt aimed at the Mexican.

  The Mexican had instinctively raised his hand chest high, yet he defiantly tilted his chin and said, “No, Senor, it is I who must ask who you are, and what are you doing here?”

  Shaw began to sense that the man had good reason for being here. He lowered the Colt an inch. “I brought the body of Dr. Edelman home to his wife.”

  “Dr. Edelman is dead?” The man crossed himself and gave a sorrowful look. “I should not be surprised,” he said, “but it is still a sad thing to hear.”

  “That’s why I’m here. Now your turn,” Shaw said, the Colt still in play.

  “I am Raul Hernandez,” the man said, calmer and with a better disposition now that Shaw had offered an explanation for his presence here. “Mi suegra—the mother of my wife works for the Edelmans. I escorted her back from a visit at my home.” He nodded in the direction of the border, then toward the rear of the barn. “Mama Juanita,” he called out in English. “You can come in. It is all right.”

  A short elderly Mexican woman entered the rear barn door, and Shaw lowered the Colt another inch. She hurried forward, also making the sign of the cross, and said with a troubled look, “Dr. Edelman is dead?”

  “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, ma’am, but yes he is.”

  She adjusted a scarf about her head and shoulders and said, “I must go to Senora Edelman right away.” Shaw stepped to the side and watched her walk past him. Then he turned back to Raul, the Colt hanging loosely in his hand.

  “Senor, I must apologize for letting us get off to such a bad start,” Raul said. “It is regrettable.”

  “No apology necessary, Senor Hernandez,” Shaw said. “I realize this is dangerous country.” He let the hammer down on the Colt, turned and shoved it down loosely into the holster. In turn he took his shirt from the peg and slipped into it.

  “Please call me Raul,” the Mexican said with a curt bow of his head.

  “Please call me Lawrence,” Shaw said, buttoning the bib of his shirt. Shoving the shirttail into his trousers, he lifted the gun belt from the peg, swung it around his waist and buckled it all in what appeared to be one smooth stroke. “I understand congratulations are in order.” He lifted the Colt a half inch and dropped it back loosely into its holster. Raul watched intently, taking note of the deft expert manner in which Shaw went about his task.

  As if snapping back from watching with rapt attention, Raul said, “Huh? Oh yes, my baby daughter.” He straightened and said, “Gracias.”

  “You must be very proud,” Shaw said as a matter of form. He bent and tied the holster down to his thigh.

  “Si, I am very proud,” said Raul. “I have been proud for eight years in a row.” He held up eight fingers. “I have four sons, and now four daughters.” He gave a pleased but tired smile. Then he looked away toward the house, seeing Lori Edelman go inside from the porch with Juanita’s arm around her. “How is Senora taking her husband’s death?” he asked quietly.

  As Shaw straightened up from tying his holster down, he turned toward the house with him. “I’d have to say overall she’s holding up pretty well,” he said, careful not to reveal that anything had happened between him and the widow in either his words or his actions.

  “Good,” said Raul as Shaw turned, facing him. As if dismissing the matter, Raul looked around and asked, “Where is the doctor’s body?”

  “Over there,” Shaw said, nodding toward the outbuilding fifty yards from the barn.

  “I must stay and pay my respects, and help you bury him,” said Raul. He looked at Shaw as if seeking his approval.

  Shaw only nodded.

  “But first I must bring my horse and mi suegra’s burrow in out of the heat and give them some water and feed,” Raul said.

  Shaw watched him walk away. He knew it wouldn’t be long before everyone far and wide knew about Lori Edelman and himself. But he wasn’t going to be the one who let the news out, he thought. Taking his poncho from the wall peg, he slipped it over his head, took down his top hat and carried it as he walked to the small outbuilding where the doctor’s body lay waiting.

  Chapter 11

  Owing to the condition of her husband’s body, Lori Edelman asked that Shaw and Raul simply wrap it in an additional blanket for burial. After doing so, Raul brought a dusty plank from a short stack in the rear corner of the barn. He laid the bundle of hide and bones on the plank and tied the two together with strips of rope, giving the blanketed skeleton some rigidity when the time came for them to lower it into the ground.

  At the graveside, Lori Edelman stood closer to Shaw than he thought was appropriate. He saw that both Juanita and Raul took note of it, yet he made no effort to move as the widow gripped his forearm and looked down at the body one last time. Stooping, she continued holding his arm as she scraped up a handful of sandy soil and let it pour down onto the body. Straightening, she stepped back as Juanita and Raul both crossed themselves and stood with their heads bowed. She gave Shaw a sidelong glance that asked him to say a few words over her husband.

  His hat in his free hand, Shaw took a breath and searched for something good to say about this man he’d never known, whose wife he’d slept with, to a God he had not always believed in.

  “Uh, Lord . . . ,” he began with uncertainty. He stalled for a moment, and in doing so he looked up from beneath his lowered brow and saw that Raul was watching and listening with a doubtful look on his face.

  Before going any further, he caught a glimpse of four riders coming into sight from the base of a short rock hillside across the valley floor. At the same time he felt Lori Edelman squeeze his forearm again, this time tighter. “Wait, please. Here comes Bowden Hewes. I must allow him to pay his respects.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Shaw almost sighed in relief. He turned his gaze to the riders, then to Raul, noting a look of concern come to the Mexican’s face.

  Watching the riders draw nearer, Shaw nodded toward Juanita and said quietly to Raul, “Why don’t you take su suegra inside the house, let her rest awhile.”

  “But I am not tired, Senor,” the elderly woman said, holding her head scarf gathered at her throat. She gave Shaw a curious look, then looked to Lori Edelman for guidance.

  “Yes, please, Juanita,” said Lori, “go on inside and rest.”

  “Rest? But I—” the woman started to protest.

  Raul stopped her. “Aw, but you know so well how tiring this noon heat can be, mi suegra,” Raul said, understanding Shaw’s intent. He stepped over, looped an arm around Juanita’s shoulders and began ushering her toward the house. “I will return immediately,” he said over his shoulder to Shaw.

  “No, Raul,” Shaw said calmly. “Why don’t you sit this out too? I had a little run-in with Hewes’ men. He might not be in a friendly mood.”

  “Oh, I see . . .” Raul gave a concerned look toward the riders, then quickly accompanied his mother-in-law on toward the house.

  Shaw stood in silence beside the widow as the riders rode into the yard. Only when Hewes was close enough to see her do so did Lori drop her hand from Shaw’s forearm. Shaw did not fail to notice her gesture or how she had timed it just right for Hewes’ benefit. “Let me handle this,” she whispered without taking her eyes from Bowden Hewes.

  “It’s all yours.” Shaw cut her a sidelong glance and took a short step away from her, just in case he suddenly needed elbow room.

  Hewes stopped his horse ten feet on the other side of the grave. Ned Gunnison, Carl Pole and Devlin Mackey spread their horses out a few feet behind him. Staring at Lori, Hewes said in a half-angry, half-injured tone, “Would you bury my brother without so much as a word to me?”

  “I thought you were still away on business,” Lori said cordially.

  Shaw listened. He gave the three other mounted riders a once-over, then turned his gaze back to Hewes, realizing that the
big man was avoiding his eyes.

  “I was away,” said Hewes to Lori. “But I was on the trail home when some of my men rode out to meet me. They told me about Jonathan.” He jerked a nod toward Shaw without looking at him. “I take it this is the man who found him?”

  “Yes, it is,” Lori said in the same cordial tone of voice and bearing. “This is Mr. Lawrence.” She looked at Shaw and continued the introduction. “This is Bowden Hewes, my late husband’s brother, the one I told you about.”

  Shaw looked at Hewes and waited for any sign of acknowledgment. Hewes ignored him. He glanced at the grave, then stepped down from his saddle and walked over to its edge. Looking down, he took his hat off and shook his head. “Did he happen to tell you what he did to Jesse Burkett?” Hewes asked Lori, staring down at the blanket-wrapped body.

  “Jane Crowly told me,” Lori said. “It sounded like Burkett was up to his same rude, bullying behavior.” She managed a thin, guarded smile. “I understood that Mr. Lawrence here merely corrected him.”

  “Mr. Lawrence, huh?” Hewes gave her a dubious look, as if knowing there was no need for any formality between her and this stranger. But before she could reply, he asked sharply, “Did that filthy she-male happen to mention that poor Jesse had two teeth knocked out and three more broken?”

  “Yes, Miss Crowly told me,” she shot back. “And refrain from that sort of bawdy house language in my yard, Bowden. I expect better from you, here at my husband’s graveside. Besides, Jane is a friend of mine. Are you suggesting something untoward about me, as well?”

  “Of course I’m not,” said Hewes, quickly backing off of the subject of Jane Crowly. “I only repeat what I’ve heard everyone else call her.”

  “And those who do are wrong,” Lori said with finality on the matter. “If you say anything else bad about her, I shall have to ask you to leave.”

  Shaw stared in silence. The three riders behind Hewes had settled into position. They returned Shaw’s stare.

  Hewes’ thick jaw tightened, but he kept silent about Jane Crowly. He gave the widow a harsh look, yet there was something almost apologetic in his eyes. Then he looked away from Lori and stared down into the grave, his hat brim crumpled in his tight fist. After a moment he changed the subject, saying, “Is this all my brother gets, a blanket? Not even a coffin?”

  “Your stepbrother . . . but my husband,” Lori said coolly. “Yes, it’s all he gets. There’s barely enough of him left to wrap in a blanket, let alone a coffin.” She laid her hand back on Shaw’s left forearm. Shaw felt awkward. But he didn’t move away. “Aren’t you going to ask Lawrence about how he found your brother, Jonathan? Or does it not matter to you?”

  Hewes looked up from the grave; an angry glare came to his eyes. “Of course it matters to me,” he said harshly. He turned his gaze to Shaw and said, “All right, Mister, where did you find my brother?”

  “I found him in a cave across the border,” Shaw said, offering no more courteousness than he’d received. He fell silent.

  Lori removed her hand from his forearm. Shaw was grateful.

  Hewes stared at him for a moment as if in contemplation, then asked, “Was there any foul play in evidence?”

  “None,” Shaw said flatly. He watched Hewes’ eyes closely for a response for a moment. Seeing no sign of surprise or question, he only stalled for a couple of seconds before he went on to say, as if it might have slipped his mind, “Except for the two bullet holes in his chest.”

  Hewes’ eyes narrowed, knowing that Shaw had just tried to test him.

  “I’m obliged you brought my brother home,” he said, a bit grudgingly, “in spite of what you did to my man Burkett.”

  Shaw didn’t reply concerning Burkett, but he did give a slight shrug of one shoulder, enough to show the four of them that he had no remorse for what he’d done.

  Hewes’ gaze went back to the widow. “At least now we know for certain that poor Jonathan is dead,” he said. “We can get on with what’s right and proper.” He turned back to Shaw. “I expect you’ll be wanting to move along now, stranger . . . for health reasons.” He gave Shaw a menacing look. “I’ll be seeing to everybody’s welfare here.”

  “Soon,” Shaw said, with no regard for Hewes’ subtle threat. “I like to take my time leaving, make sure I didn’t miss something.”

  Stiffening at Shaw’s words, Hewes gave a commanding look at Gunnison, who gigged his horse forward a step, the other two moving right along with him. Gunnison stared down at Shaw. “Are you simple-minded, drifter, or maybe you just don’t hear so good. What Bo Hewes is telling you is that it’s time you hightailed it out of here before you get hurt. This is Fire River country. It’s ours. You know what they say about fire: Step too close and a fellow can get himself burned down mighty easily.”

  “Let me know where too close is,” Shaw said, taking a deliberate step forward. He stared at Gunnison, his hand hanging at the edge of his poncho. His big Colt stood out of sight beneath the poncho, but only an inch from his fingertips.

  Behind Shaw, Lori Edelman saw things were about to get out of control. “Bo Hewes, how dare you ride in here and let these bullies threaten my guest when I’m trying to bury my husband!”

  Hewes relented. He clenched his jaw tight again, and gave a sharp jerk of his head, signaling Gunnison and the others to back off. “This is a funeral. You men step down and help. Take turns with the shoveling,” he said gruffly. To Lori he said, “All right, let’s get Jonathan laid to rest.” He turned to Shaw. “This day belongs to my brother. You brought him here; you’ve been properly thanked for it. Don’t push your luck with me.”

  “Luck was made to be pushed,” Shaw said flatly, appearing to give no heed to any threat Hewes and his men had tried to present to him. He watched the men step down from their saddles and walk to where a shovel stood stuck into a mound of dirt beside the grave.

  When the last shovel of dry, rocky dirt had been patted down, Shaw, Lori Edelman, and Juanita stood at the graveside and watched Hewes and his men mount up and ride away. Only when they were out of sight did Raul walk down from the house with a long shotgun in the crook of his arm. “You had no need to worry. I kept you covered, Senor,” he said to Shaw.

  “Obliged,” Shaw said. “But I don’t want you getting tangled up in any trouble I might have with Bowden Hewes and his bunch.”

  “I am not afraid of Bowden Hewes,” Raul said, not understanding that Shaw wasn’t talking about being afraid. “I have broken horses on his ranch for him many times. Neither him nor his men frighten me.”

  “I saw that plain enough,” Shaw replied, “but you and your family still have to live in these parts after I’m gone.” He gestured a nod toward Juanita. “I don’t want to cause you trouble later on.”

  “He did not see me”—Raul shrugged with a pleasant smile—“and I will be gone back to Mexico tonight.”

  Rather than push the matter and make the man feel bad, Shaw decided to let the matter drop for now. He gazed off toward the drift of dust Hewes and his men’s horses had left standing on the still air. When Lori stepped over near him, he noted that this time she didn’t lay her hand on his forearm—no need to, he thought, now that Hewes had seen all she wanted him to see. . . .

  Along the trail leading away from the Edelmans’ and across the valley floor, Bowden Hewes rode on in a dark brooding silence. Behind him the three other men looked at one another, knowing Hewes could fly into a killing rage at any moment. Finally, as they neared a fork in the trail that turned east toward Fire River, Ned Gunnison ventured up beside Hewes and offered him a shot from the bottle of whiskey he’d rummaged from his saddlebags.

  Hewes took the bottle, turned up a long swig and handed it back to Gunnison. He blew out a breath, wiped a hand across his lips and said, “Ned, we’ve got a lot riding on us getting that equipment home and set up. Can I count on you and those two to take care of this ragged-ass saddle bum, get him out of my hair for good?”

  “Say the word, it�
�s done, Bo,” Gunnison replied. “We don’t need any outsiders hanging around right now. Far as we know he could be the law.”

  “The law? Ha, I doubt it,” Hewes said, with a harsh chuckle. “This man is a drunk, or he has been anyway. No self-respecting lawman would let himself get down this low, not if he wanted to stay alive. He wouldn’t be able to cut it in this country.”

  “Yeah, you’re right, he’s not a lawman, this saddle bum,” Gunnison said, considering it. He didn’t want to disagree with Hewes while he appeared to be in such a bad mood. “What do you want us to do, hang around close, catch him when he leaves the place? Make sure there’s no trouble around the Edelman place?”

  Hewes thought about it for a moment. “Maybe a little trouble close to home is just the thing it would take to jar Lori back to her senses. Maybe she needs to be reminded that a woman needs a man like me around to take care of her.” He gave a flat grin.

  “Hell, we can kill him and stick his head on a gate-post out front, if that’s what you want, Bo,” Gunnison said, grinning himself.

  “Let’s not get crazy here, Ned,” said Hewes. “After all, we’re not barbarians, are we?”

  “No, we’re not,” said Gunnison. “But damned if there’s not times when I wish we were.”

  Staring straight ahead, Hewes said, “The three of yas cut around wide and ride back. Get in close. After dark tonight, catch him out front, on his way to the jake or something. Leave him lying in her front yard.”

  “She’ll figure we done it, Bo,” said Gunnison.

  “That’s my whole point, Ned,” said Hewes. “She’ll figure us for it right off, but she’ll never be able to say for certain.” His grin gone, his face grew cold and hardened. “It’s time she learned not to play these little games with me. She belonged to Jonathan. Now she rightfully belongs to me.” He paused, then said, “Mess him up good, Ned. Make an example of him.”

  “It’s done, Bo,” said Gunnison. He took the bottle, corked it with the palm of his hand and turned his horse back to the other two riders. When he sidled up to them, he jerked his head toward the trail back across the valley and said, “Let’s go, boys. We’ve got some killing to do.”