Arizona Gold

by Maggie James

  Seth growled, “Just keep away from me. I know what you’re after—a husband, and I wouldn’t have a bony old bag like you. So leave me alone.”

  “But I wasn’t…” She fell silent, blinking back humiliated tears.

  The man sitting next to her, Lloyd Pendergrass, said, “Pay no attention to him. Mr. Barlow has a touch of stage craziness, I’m afraid.”

  Seth angrily demanded, “Who are you calling crazy, mister? I got a right to ride this stage without some husband-hunting old maid throwing herself at me.”

  Sarah gasped. “Oh, Mr. Barlow, I’m not doing that, believe me. And I’m not an old maid. I’m a widow. I told you that. I’m going to El Paso to teach on the reservation and make a new life for myself. I still grieve for my late husband, and—”

  “And don’t waste your breath,” Violet Proby, the woman next to Kitty, said with a sneer. “He’s just hoping you are after him. Hell, he’s been trying to feel of me ever since we left Waco.”

  “I most certainly have not.”

  “Oh, yes, you have.”

  “Oh, no, I haven’t. You’re nothing but a painted-up hussy, and—”

  Lloyd Pendergrass yelled, “Stop it. Both of you. God, but I’m sick of all this bickering. Will we ever get to El Paso?” He poked Sarah with his elbow and nodded to the space between Kitty and Violet. “Why don’t you just move over there so you’ll be sure not to touch the old grump?”

  Sarah blinked and looked at Kitty uncertainly. “I…I don’t think there’s enough room.”

  Kitty was staring out the window, refusing to be a part of it all. She knew she was the reason Sarah did not want to switch seats—she did not want to be next to her.

  Lloyd said, “Then change places with me. I certainly won’t fall asleep and lean on him.”

  Sarah shook her head. “No. I’ll stay awake. We should be stopping soon.”

  Seth gave a snort. “I sure as hell hope so, because I’ll ride on top before I’ll spend another day with you idiots.”

  Kitty had heard Mr. Barlow say he was going all the way to Tombstone, while the others were getting off in El Paso. If no one else boarded, it would mean she would be alone with him the rest of the way, and, Lord, how she dreaded that.

  Not only had the passengers been friendlier in the beginning, but the trip had been pleasant. They would stop every twelve miles or so at what was called a swing station, to change horses. Those stations were little more than a stable and a granary run by a couple of stock tenders. Stops were longer at the home stations, which were forty to fifty miles apart. Besides bunks for the line’s employees there was a dining room and a stage and telegraph office.

  Food had been good back then, too. They would be served things like fried ham and potatoes, stewed veal, canned tomatoes, peas, and rolls and butter. Moving on, however, they had to subsist on two pitiful meals a day—fried salt pork of dubious age, corn dodgers, dried fruit, and bitter coffee with no sugar or milk.

  They’d had good stages at first, too—Concords, which were the finest, almost eight feet long and five feet wide, with seats upholstered in the finest leather, and wood paneling with polished metal fittings. Curtains were also made of leather, which could better absorb the wind and rain.

  Horses were nicer then, too, but as they left behind settled farms and breeding ranches, half-wild stock was pressed into service. Squealing, biting mustangs, barely broken, were forced into harness.

  So, as the journey wore on, passengers became increasingly uncomfortable. There was a critical lack of sleep and the misery of close quarters and tedium. Legs swelled, muscles cramped, joints throbbed, and tempers flared.

  Kitty knew Lloyd Pendergrass had been quite serious when he said Seth Barlow had a touch of stage craziness. It was a recognized malady of the West, and sometimes passengers became violent and actually had to be thrown off the stage in the middle of nowhere to keep them from harming others.

  She sneaked a glance at Mr. Barlow. He was plenty mad, she could tell. His eyes were stormy, his face was red and puffy, and with one hand he was noisily popping the knuckles of his other.

  Violet suddenly cried, “I wish you’d stop that, you old goat.”

  “And I wish you’d kiss my ass, you strumpet.” He raised his hand as though to hit her.

  At that, Lloyd Pendergrass lunged for him.

  Sarah Humphries screamed as she was mashed back in the seat, caught between them.

  “Atta boy, Lloyd!” Violet was bouncing up and down and beating her knees with her fists. “Teach him not to talk that way to a lady. Beat his ass.”

  Seth landed a punch on Lloyd’s chin, and Lloyd grabbed him by his throat as they fell on top of Violet and Kitty.

  “Somebody make them stop,” Sarah screamed, hands covering her face.

  Then she screamed louder as the stage hit a bump, knocking the fighters back into her, and she was struck in the face by a swinging boot.

  Finally, the driver realized what was going on and began to rein in the horses.

  But before he could come to a complete stop, Kitty saw the sudden glint of steel as Seth pulled a knife from his boot. In a flash, she drew her pistol. Firing inside a stagecoach might be dangerous, but she knew what she was doing and had to take the chance. Swiftly aiming, she pulled the trigger and shot the knife out of Seth’s hand just as it began a downward arc toward Lloyd’s chest.

  The explosion was like a cannon in such close quarters. Smoke filled the cabin, making everyone gasp and cough.

  Violet yelled that she was deaf.

  Sarah fainted.

  Lloyd threw himself against the door at his back and toppled onto the ground.

  Seth fell right behind him.

  Rufus Ward, the driver, leaped from his box. “What in thunderation is goin’ on back here?” His gun was drawn.

  Lloyd scrambled to his feet, knocking dirt from his coat and trousers before pointing at Seth, who had made no move to get up. “Him. He’s stage crazy. That boy”—he nodded toward Kitty, who was still in her seat—“if he hadn’t shot that knife out of Barlow’s hand, he might’ve killed me.”

  Rufus looked down at Seth. “Is that true, Barlow? You pull a knife on Pendergrass?”

  Seth made a hissing sound. “I’ll cut them all if they don’t leave me alone. The women are throwing themselves at me, and Pendergrass is taking up for them, and him”—he pointed at Kitty—“he’s the worst. He tried to kill me.”

  Pete Dorcas, the guard, looked down from where he stood in the box. Shotgun in hand, he laughed and said, “He’s a damn good shot, too. Blew that knife outta your hand without a scratch.” Leaning over, he directed his voice to the inside. “Where’d you learn to shoot like that, boy?”

  Kitty did not respond.

  Pete shrugged at Rufus. “I don’t think I’ve heard him say a word since we took over.”

  “He never speaks,” Lloyd said. “But he saved my life.”

  Rufus grunted. “Well, it’s a good thing he had a clear shot, or he might’ve killed somebody.”

  At that Kitty could not resist snapping, “If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have fired.”

  Everyone looked surprised that she had spoken, then Rufus allowed, “No, I don’t reckon you would have.”

  Violet had got out of the stage and was standing with her hands pressed to her ears.

  Rufus shouted at her, “You’ll be fine in a while, miss. It just takes time to get the ringing out.” He glanced inside and saw Sarah had collapsed. “She’ll be fine, too.”

  After asking Lloyd to see if he could bring Sarah around, Rufus called to Pete to throw down the handcuffs. “I’m not taking no chances before we get to El Paso.”

  Seth fought against the cuffs, and Pete finally had to jump down from the box to help subdue him.

  “A gag would help,” Violet snapped as he was wrestled back into the coach.

  Rufus assured her that if he heard one more foul word or threat out of Seth, he would personally ram his bandanna in his
mouth…all the way to his lungs.

  With a black look of resignation, Seth settled into grudging silence.

  When they were under way again, Lloyd held out his hand to Kitty “Thanks for saving my life.”

  Fearing he now felt a sense of kinship and would want to make conversation, she ignored his outstretched hand and returned to her vigil at the window.

  With a sigh, he left her alone…as did everyone else.

  The home station in El Paso was a welcome respite to Kitty for many reasons. She was able to find a private place to take a bath and had time to wash her overalls and shirt and allow them to dry in the Texas heat without anyone seeing her undressed. There was also good food and plenty of cold milk and even a cot in an obscure corner.

  She did not realize she had slept for so long till Rufus shook her awake and said they would be rolling soon.

  “You were tired, so I let you sleep,” he said, sitting down on the side of her cot as he rolled himself a smoke.

  She fought the impulse to shrink away from him. After all, it was supposed to be just two men talking and not mattering that one of them was in bed.

  He struck a match, lit the cigarette, and took a deep draw before confiding, “I slept quite a spell, too. Thought I had a couple of days to rest up before the northbound stage got here—that’s the run I was scheduled for. But word’s come they busted a wheel and they’re running late. Then the driver that was supposed to take the run on into Wilcox and Tombstone got himself killed in a gunfight in a Mexican cantina.

  “So…” He shrugged and took another draw. “I’ll be taking the stage on to Arizona. Drivers are supposed to change every station, but there ain’t nobody else. I’m just hoping for relief along the way, but I’m afraid there won’t be any.”

  She wondered why he was telling her his troubles and decided it had to do with the shooting incident. Still, she did not want to get close to anyone and remained silent.

  After a moment, he looked down at her and laughed. “You’re a strange one, Kit Parrish, but you oughta do all right out here. You keep your mouth shut, so it’s likely you’ll stay out of trouble. Knowing how to use that gun will help, too. Tombstone is a rough and dangerous place.” He stood. “Best get up and moving, boy. We’re leaving soon as we eat breakfast.

  “Afraid we got some shitty horses, too,” he said on the way out. “Crazy, half-broke mustangs. It’s them or nothing, though. Shortage of horses. With a hundred miles to go, we’ll probably wind up with mules before it’s over.”

  Kitty dressed quickly and joined him in the dining room along with the new guard, Hank Wallace. Antelope steak, eggs, and hot biscuits were served, along with coffee and milk. She ate as much as she could hold knowing that with the rest of the way so rugged and barren they would be lucky to get bologna and cheese and tins of herring or sardines at the few and far-between stations.

  She was having one last helping of biscuits and honey when a commotion erupted in the corral adjacent to the station house.

  Rufus and Hank kept eating, but as the noise of horses whinnying and men shouting and cursing continued, Kitty raised from her chair.

  “Nothing to worry about,” Rufus said around a mouthful of fried egg. “Just the Mexican vaqueros trying to get harnesses on them half-broke mustangs. They’ll whip ’em into settling down, though.”

  Kitty heard the sound of leather striking horseflesh and cried, “They shouldn’t do that. You don’t have to hit a horse to get him to do what you want.”

  Rufus and Hank exchanged startled glances as she strode angrily from the room, then hurried to the window to watch as she stormed into the corral.

  Kitty marched right over to the vaquero wielding the whip and jerked it from his hand. “You don’t have to beat a horse to break him. There are other ways to persuade him—like being gentle.”

  The vaqueros looked at each other, then at Kitty and broke into gales of laughter.

  “Then do it,” the one she had wrested the whip from challenged as he pointed to the stamping mustangs, their nostrils flared and eyes wild with rebellion. “We will see how the gringo would do it.”

  Kitty spent the next few minutes patting the horses and talking to them in soothing tones. Then, when they had stopped their agitated prancing about, she ran her hands along the straps to confirm her suspicion that they were too tight. True, a team had to be firmly harnessed in order to perform as a unit, but a good driver could handle pairs of loosely hitched animals separately. And Rufus, she had seen, was a good driver. He had just made the error of allowing someone else to take care of his horses.

  After she had retied all the straps, the team settled down even more. By that time Rufus and Hank had finished eating and were at the corral.

  Rufus, impressed, said, “I can tell you know about horses, boy.”

  “I raised them back in Virginia,” Kitty could not resist proudly sharing. “I never broke horses for harness to something as big as a stagecoach, but I have for wagons and carriages. It’s just a matter of patience.”

  “Which you sure have got.”

  His beefy hand slapping down on her shoulder was staggering, and she stumbled a few steps before righting herself.

  There were only two other passengers, a married couple, going only as far as the home station near the Arizona border. As they waited to board, they introduced themselves to Kitty and tried to make conversation, but she was unresponsive, and they soon gave up and left her alone.

  She regretted having to be so unfriendly. It had been a tedious journey, and it would have been nice to pass the time chatting.

  Thinking back, she realized that her whole life had been lonely and friendless, due to everyone hating her mother as they had. Maybe, she dared hope, things would be different in Arizona. No one would know, or care, about her past, and she could feel like a part of things…a part of life.

  Kitty started to get up into the coach, but Rufus, who had been staring down at her from the driver’s box with a thoughtful expression, suddenly said to Hank, “How about you ridin’ below for a while and lettin’ Kit come up here with me?”

  “Sure thing,” Hank said. “He proved he can use a gun if he has to.”

  Drivers, Kitty had learned along the way, could share the box with others if they chose to. They would ask the guard to yield his place temporarily to a favored passenger. It was an honor seldom refused, despite the precarious perch.

  She did not want to get up there but hated to say so. After all, Rufus was one of the nicest drivers she had encountered. Some of them had been genial and outgoing, warming to the passengers right away. Others had been aloof, regal acting almost, and coldly silent.

  But she knew it was an important job, and not just any sort of man could drive a stagecoach. After all, it was a big responsibility to get nervous passengers through wild, lonely, and dangerous country—all the while handling a team of horses on rough roads in sometimes-terrible weather.

  She settled in beside Rufus and noted how he held the reins wrapped in the fingers of his left hand. The right he kept free for the whip or handling the brake.

  “Think you’d like to drive one of these rigs?” he asked around a mouthful of chewing tobacco.

  Kitty mumbled that she didn’t think so.

  He then proceeded to tell her his life’s story and how he had wound up as a driver. She listened with interest, enjoying his tales, relieved he was such a talker that he did not mind her contributing nothing to the conversation.

  In a few hours they reached a swing station. As Rufus had predicted, they were given mules.

  There was time for a quick meal of corn dodgers and boiled eggs, handed out by the old man tending the stables. Then they were on their way again. Hank took his place in the box, and Kitty settled in with the passengers, realizing how much she had enjoyed being up top.

  When they reached the Arizona border and the home station there, Rufus cursed to hear that neither his replacement, nor Hank’s, had arrived. “Damn a bear,
” he roared to the station master. “This was a double run for me. I’m plumb wore out, and you’re tellin’ me I’ve got to take this god-danged stage on to Wilcox?”

  Hank joined the protest. “I don’t like it, neither. This was supposed to be my last run. I’m quittin’ and headin’ to California. Hell, I’m tired of all the time worrying about gettin’ an arrow in my back or a bullet in my head.”

  The stationmaster gave a helpless shrug. “Can’t help it, boys. When that stage was attacked by Injuns near Silver Creek last week, it messed up everybody’s schedule.”

  “I don’t see why,” Rufus said. “That was nowhere near here.”

  “But the driver was killed. Guard, too. Then a few days later another driver died when the stage turned over. We got a shortage now, but if you boys can finish up the run to Tombstone, the big boss himself says you’ll get double pay between here and there.”

  Rufus and Hank exchanged nods. Extra money was too good to pass up.

  “You only got one passenger now, anyway.” The stationmaster glanced at Kitty. “And you ain’t carrying gold—just mail. So if the Injuns do attack, just hand the box over and don’t put up a fight.”

  Kitty hoped against hope they would make it without trouble.

  Indians, she had decided after hearing so many horror stories, were something she prayed never to encounter.

  Ryder looked at his warriors. He had asked Coyotay to gather only a dozen, and he had done so. He did not want a large band. He wanted to make it appear that only a few renegades were in the area; otherwise, the army would think even more soldiers were needed and increase their number, which he did not want.

  The sun was just rising, and the land was colored in radiant pinks and lavenders, as though liquid flowers had spilled from the horizon. A soft breeze was blowing. The sky was clear.

  It was a good day for a war party to ride.

  Coyotay kneed his mustang beside Ryder. “We are ready.”

  Like the others, Ryder had streaked his face with red and black and yellow war paint and carried bow and arrow, as well as rifle and war club. He was dressed in full Apache attire—skin vest and shirt, and trousers tucked into knee-high moccasins.