by Cotton Smith
Around the bowl was a leather string holding brown ears. Two of them were fresh.
“In here is the moon, anew and vibrant. In here is the river of—”
“Looks like sand and three rocks to me.”
She frowned. Her eyes sought his soul and undressed it. He had never felt such penetration. His body was chilled.
“In here is the river of light. Dancing. In here is the heart of the earth. Breathing.”
The words rattled uncomfortably in his head as she continued with her rhythmic incantation.
“All hearts sing with the spirit in this world and the one beside it, drawn together by the lust of moonlight,” she recited huskily, drawing a triangle with her finger around the candle and stones. “The red stone is you. The black stone is for your mother and father, waiting to hear and be heard. I am but a singer to the spirits.”
Her hands moved smoothly across her face and down over her bosom as she explained. “The crystal is a living being. It is the moon. It is not truly solid. It is song. The song of creation. The song of the wheel of life. With it we can reach out to the spirits who live beyond us. Waiting. Waiting. It is our friend.” Her hands repeated the same rhythmic motion, around her face and down, but never touching herself.
He glanced at the bowl. “Hard to believe there’s so much there.” He cocked his head. “But I’ve seen some sand down around the Panhandle that sure looked like spirits had been working it over.” He chuckled to himself.
“Please, Time. Your mother and father have waited a long time to talk with you. They came at my request, the moon’s strength, and the crystal’s song—but they cannot stay long.”
Carlow laid his hat on the floor and pulled the empty chair back. His spurs caught the lowest rung as he sat.
Again she repeated the circular motion with her hands about her face and body, each time her hands came closer and closer to her eyes. Smoothly and slowly like ripples on a pond. Barely making the flame of the candle sway. Finally her fingers encircled only her turquoise eyes. They seemed wild. Unblinking. Unworldly.
Lavender sought his nose and loins. Watching her hands made Carlow’s head ache. A pounding in rhythm with her movements. She had taken possession of the room. If he closed his eyes, he knew he would sink into the crystal.
“Take my hands in yours.” She held out her hands and he did as she asked. The soft touch of her skin was cold. So cold. “Close your eyes and empty your mind of the day. Close your eyes and do not let disbelief enter your soul. Nay, not now. Spirits are sensitive and will not stay where there is disbelief. They trust me. You must trust me. Close your eyes.”
Carlow closed his eyes.
Her chin rose and she began to chant. It wasn’t like anything Carlow had ever heard before. Strangesounding words. He had no idea to what language they belonged. Long, almost tearful phrases that ended wistfully. Soon she began to talk in a calibrated, thin voice that seemed to be coming from somewhere else and not from within her body. A glaze covered her eyes like the veil of a just-cast-off deep sleep. Her grip tightened around his hands.
“Yes, I know. He is here. He is waiting. He believes. Please come. He would like to hear from you.” Her entire body trembled. “Yes, she comes . . . yes, she comes, the Irish one, fair as the day. She is with us now, the Irish one, fair as the day. She has been waiting . . . waiting so long.” Her body jerked spasmodically, and her hands were iron around Carlow’s. “Yes, he is with her. Yes, he is with her. It is now. Speak to us . . . through the sacred stone that is the moon. Speak to us.”
Silently a shadow spread from the far corner of the room. A shrouded image took shape from behind a heavy couch shoved against the wall.
Chapter Thirty-three
Five gunshots tore through the room, then a hesitation, and a sixth ripped the air.
The shrouded figure stepped sideways as if to clear the couch, weaved to one side, then righted himself. He tried to recock his silver-plated revolver but the hammer was too heavy to pull back. Something was terribly wrong with the gun. No longer would it stay in his hand. The weapon thudded to the dark floor. The would-be assassin tottered and fell. Face-first. And was still.
A thin string of smoke sought relief from Carlow’s Colt. He was on his back on the floor, still sitting in the overturned chair. The instant he sensed movement, the young Ranger had ripped his hands away from Jessie’s and shoved himself backward in the chair, drawing his Colt as he fell. Not expecting Carlow’s reaction, the assassin had delivered his bullet where the Ranger had been a moment before. Carlow’s four shots found his heart. The assassin’s second shot thudded into the floor.
Wild-eyed, Jessie screamed and stood, shoving the table in Carlow’s direction. The crystal and two rocks flew into the air and disappeared into the darkness with a rain of sand following. The candle rattled on the floor near his head, spitting its last spark. The table toppled onto its side, shivered, and decided to remain there. As did the necklace of ears.
“My God, what have you done!” she cried out. A large knife was in her raised right hand.
“Shot a ghost,” Carlow said, lying on his back in the downed chair. His cocked revolver was pointed at the prone figure. “Actually it looks a lot like a priest. A priest with a gun.” He swung the Colt toward her. “Drop the knife, Jessie. This man’s ears are going to stay where they are.”
She threw the blade at him, and it clanked off the corner of his overturned chair. Screaming madly, she ran and knelt beside the shrouded figure. It was the priest from the hotel porch. Her outfit didn’t appear to leave room for hiding a gun, but he knew that was a dangerous assumption.
Before she pulled the priest’s black hood free of his face, Carlow knew it was Silver Mallow. Still, Carlow’s mouth tightened with the confirmation. The priest on the hotel porch. He should have guessed. Then.
The outlaw leader stared unseeing at her. Unseeing. Jessie leaned over and spat. Her spittle crawled across his still face. “You fool,” she roared. “You complete fool. Remmy should never have believed you. I told you both that the Ranger was good. All you could do was talk—a-an’ play the fiddle—an’ wear a stupid d-disguise.”
“I think you’re going to have to reach him through one of your seances, Jessie. He’s dead.” Carlow pushed away from the chair with his left hand and stood. He couldn’t help wondering if Mallow had held a gun behind his back when watching him from the hotel porch and hadn’t liked his chances.
She looked up, tears of anger masking her face. She looked crazy. “Y-you were the one who was to die. T-the spirits deemed it. The m-moon agreed. I—I am Diana. You are m-my next—”
“Maybe they got confused. We look a lot alike,” Carlow said, shoving new loads into his Colt. “Sorry I had to break up your little song and dance. I knew you had somebody hiding, but I couldn’t tell where. Had to wait for him to make an appearance.”
“H-how did you know it was . . . this musical clown?”
“When you said something about me being wounded, I remembered seeing a priest outside your hotel when I rode in.” Carlow spun the bullet cylinder to check its capacity, then closed the loading hinge with his thumb. “That had to be Mallow. I should’ve known you and your husband had set up his fake escape to get me out of town.” He cocked his head to the side. “Unless you really did talk to my mother and father.”
She spat at Mallow’s face again, and her hand slid toward the gun just beside his right leg.
“Don’t do that, Jessie. The spirits wouldn’t like it. Neither would I.”
“You would shoot a woman?”
Carlow cocked his head to the side. “A woman trying to kill me, yes.”
“You are despicable.”
“I thought I was the red rock.”
Commotion at the front door caught his attention. Carlow slipped the Colt to his left hand and drew his hand-carbine. “Looks like you’ve got some friends coming to join the party.”
Her drawn face was unreadable. She sat cross-legge
d next to Mallow’s body, her arms folded defiantly. He thought she was quite likely insane. He glanced down at the turned-over table. It would be as good as any to fight from, and he eased toward it.
A bark broke through the stillness. Chance!
“In here, boy,” Carlow yelled. If he was going to die, at least his wolf-dog would be with him. He cocked the Colt and spun the hand-carbine in his right hand by the lever, readying it.
The shadow at the doorway was familiar and immediately raced for Carlow, almost knocking him over. Chance’s tail wagged vigorously, and he licked at Carlow’s hand. The young Ranger laid down his Colt for a moment to return the greeting, then picked it up again.
“Stay behind here, boy.”
The next shadow was Kileen’s, filling the door.
“What be goin’ on in this damn cave?” His voice boomed in the darkness. “Don’t the doctor be ownin’ a candle?”
“Yeah, they had one, but it went out.”
“I missed ye at the marshal’s office. Went back to make certain the fellow be understandin’ his charge,” Kileen explained, trying to see in the darkened room. “He told me ye had been in. Gave him a few instructions ye did.” The big Ranger’s laugh was comforting.
“That’s Silver Mallow . . . there.”
Kileen stopping laughing, squinted, and walked over to the body. Squatting next to the dead man, Jessie Holden glared up at him. Ignoring her completely, he proceeded to tell Carlow that he had awakened Dr. Holden after talking to the marshal. With some “wee encouragement,” the frightened doctor had confessed to confronting Mallow when he first rode into town. Holden’s men had stopped him as they had Carlow later, thinking he was riding for the Cradle 6. After Mallow explained his situation to Red Anklon and Del Gato, they told him to hide in the brothel.
They set up the ruse about Mallow’s escaping to get rid of Carlow. A Holden rider, pretending to be the outlaw leader, was to ride hard for the border and not stop. Although assured that he wouldn’t have to face Carlow, the man hadn’t yet returned. They hadn’t expected the young Ranger to ride back to the Von Pearce ranch, and thought he also had gone into Mexico.
In return, Mallow was expected to help them if any repercussions arose after taking control of the Cradle 6; the outlaw said he could handle Viceroy if necessary. Holden said Mallow had moved to his hotel this morning. He thought it was funny that the outlaw decided to disguise himself as a priest.
“Meself went to the hotel to see if the priest be ready to do some confessin’ hisself.” Kileen chuckled at his joke. “The fine hotel clerk be tellin’ me that the sweet lass herself came and left with him. Sounded like it was shortly after meself be enterin’ town with the fine doctor.” He patted her head and she hissed a curse. “Oh, melady, that be not a fittin’ sound from ye.” He grinned and patted her head again as she continued cursing.
Carlow couldn’t resist his own smile.
“When I told Holden that Will Nichols be leadin’ ye to Widow Bea’s,” Kileen concluded, “well, the fine doctor, he almost choked, he did. I had to slap hisself a bit to straighten out his constitution. Always glad to help a fellow man, I be.” Kileen looked down at the distraught Jessie. “Well, me lass, it be lookin’ like your husband hisself an’ ye did not be hirin’ too well. Your black man is with us no more, either. God bless his black soul.”
Her eyes spit at him. “Del Gato will kill you both.”
“Aye, ’tis a thought. ’Tis a thought,” Kileen said. “But a fine citizen, Mr. Ward, he be showin’ me where Del Gato be lyin’. Facedown, Mrs. Holden. Facedown. Behind your store, he be.” He nodded toward Carlow. “Ye didn’t plan so well, me darlin’.”
“Don’t let me forget to replace the lock,” Carlow said. “Whoever the new owners are will want that, I’m sure.” He didn’t intend to explain how Del Gato was killed.
For the first time, Carlow noticed there was a second wide shadow. Behind his uncle. The shape in the doorway was too distinctive to be anyone but Jimmy Ward Flanker.
Flanker! What is he doing here?
The fat shootist stepped closer to let the gray light salute him. His wink told Carlow to keep his charade as “Mr. Ward.”
“Thank you . . . Mr. Ward. Citizens doing their duty are most appreciated,” Carlow said.
“Ah, any citizen would have done the same,” Flanker grinned. “I found the good Ranger here, finishing his tribute to a hard day’s work, and told him of what I had seen.”
“An’ where I was going?”
“Ah, that too. That too.” Flanker licked his lower lip and wiped his lapels of something only he could see.
An expression of having a great secret took over Kileen and he turned toward Carlow. The young Ranger thought he was going to blurt out Flanker’s real identity. Instead, it was about superstitions again—and Charlie Two-Wolves.
“Did ye know Charlie Two-Wolves be a war chief?” Kileen’s face was beaming. “Aye, he be tellin’ me. He got away from the bloody reservation. Bea’s late husband, God bless his soul, hired him on.” He crossed himself and continued, “We be sharin’ a bit about spirits an’ war medicine . . . an’ Chance.”
Carlow knew what was coming next.
“He be knowin’ who Chance be, me son. Just as I said he be.”
Jessie stared at them. The look was murderous yet puzzled by the discussion between the two Rangers. Flanker looked amused. Kileen reached down and yanked her to her feet.
“Let me go! I’ll have the marshal on you.” She slapped at his arm and hand.
Kileen ignored the attack and moved her toward the door. He paused and looked back. “Ye be joinin’ us, me son? Or be this place to your likin’?”
“Go ahead, I’ll be right behind you. Gotta pick up some stuff.”
Kileen nodded and continued walking, forcing Jessie Holden to walk with him. His firm grip on her arm gave her no choice. He tapped on the doorway three times. “ ’Tis a wise thing this be to do, lass. Ye must get the attention of the wee spirits who live there. In the wood, they be. They need remindin’ to honor your wish.”
“I don’t believe in stuff like that,” she snarled.
“Aye, an’ they don’t believe in ye, Mrs. Holden. Will ye be joinin’ us, Mr. Ward?”
“Certainly. Certainly.” Flanker patted the big Ranger on the back and followed.
Carlow went first to Mallow’s body. It was almost like seeing himself dead. Chance followed, sniffing at death, then pulling away. The young Ranger studied Mallow’s hooded cloak. “I should have guessed it was you . . . at the hotel, Silver. I’ll bet you liked this idea, didn’t you? Getting to wear a costume to kill me.” He picked up the outlaw leader’s gun and shoved it into his waistband. “You should’ve tried at the porch. I wouldn’t have expected it.”
Staring at the outlaw’s face, he decided Silver Mallow didn’t really look like him after all. It was only the dark hair and the silver he was wearing. Carlow’s glance took in Mallow’s right hand, with a silver ring on each finger. His left hand was folded under his body.
“No wonder you kept your hands behind you at the hotel,” Carlow muttered. “You really enjoyed all her mumbo jumbo, too, I know,” Carlow continued. “Did you expect I’d think you were my mother or my father? Or that she could hypnotize me? You didn’t rate me very high, did you, Silver?”
Carlow touched the cross necklace under his shirt. He didn’t see one around Mallow’s neck. The outlaw had worn one in the Bennett jail before he escaped. What had happened to it? It didn’t matter. Not anymore.
One question was seeping into his mind: Was Marshal Dillingham involved in this? He was the one who told me about the stolen horse. He knew where I was.
He turned away and saw the large circle display on the wall. This time it just seemed gaudy. The devil masks glared at him, and he was glad to be leaving. It had been a risk to enter the room, but he couldn’t see how he could have done it any other way. If he had tried to take Jessie right away, Mallow would have sh
ot him in the back. He’d had to let them play out their game, but he admitted to himself that he hadn’t expected her accomplice to be Mallow. What if the outlaw had fired at him from the hotel? Carlow muttered, “Just lucky,” and looked up, glad that Kileen hadn’t heard the phrase.
He felt his shirt for the pouch of wolf medicine. Two-Wolves would appreciate hearing it had helped him. Without thinking, he fingered his vest pockets. Next to the old watch were the acorn and the two blood stones. I’ll have to ask Thunder which one helped me, he mused. He’ll have an opinion, that’s for sure. He tried to laugh but couldn’t.
Touching the stones made him think of Jessie’s rocks and piece of crystal. Funny how much importance some people put on rocks, he thought. Looking back at the turned-over table, he decided to get the crystal. Kileen would like having the clear rock. He walked over and picked it up, holding the piece in his open palm. Was she right about this thing not really being solid? That sound could go right through? Chance followed, sniffing first at the crystal, then heading over to explore the two other rocks.
Carlow’s mind wandered back to a yesterday when he and his mother were living alone above a saloon. He wanted to tell Jessie that his mother’s presence was never far from him—and that it didn’t take all kinds of ceremony to have her there. He couldn’t say the same about his father, having never known the man. Yet there was always something within him that he couldn’t quite explain. It was like a tiny fire burned deep within his heart. A sensation that seemed to steer him when he needed it most. Maybe this was just his conscience, well planted by his mother. It didn’t come from his uncle, that’s for sure. Kileen had no qualms about cutting corners when and where he thought necessary.
Tossing the crystal in his hand, he left the room with the wolf-dog at his heels. Chance growled at the big dragon at the entrance. Carlow chuckled. “You could take him.” They continued down the strange hallway and went outside.