Quinn's Last Run

by Paul Lederer

  With infinite caution, his eyes on the outlaws even as he seemed to be studying the distances, Quinn scooted Hancock’s .44 along the seat and managed to slip the pistol behind his belt, under his loose shirt. The weapon would do him no good just now, but it was a comfort having it.

  No one had been alerted by his furtive movements. The bandits’ eyes were fixed on something else, and now Quinn saw what it was.

  Lily Davenport had leaped down from the stage. Ernesto Guerrero had dismounted and she rushed into his arms, kissing his throat and lips. ‘I knew you’d come,’ she said, ‘but I didn’t count on seeing you ‘til Yuma!’

  ‘This is much safer,’ Quinn heard Guerrero say. With the girl in his arms he ordered his men, ‘Rafael, Lon, search the other passengers for weapons.’

  The two who had been flanking Guerrero, his chief lieutenants it seemed – the bulky Mexican, Rafael and the narrow American, Lon – swung down from their saddles and opened both stagecoach doors. In a minute they emerged, Lon holding up the pistol which Quinn recognized as George Sabato’s Remington .36 revolver.

  ‘This is all,’ the blond kid said. ‘Say, Guerrero, there’s a man in there wearing shackles.’

  ‘Is there?’ the bandit leader said with little apparent interest. He was still distracted, fascinated by the woman in his arms.

  ‘That’s not all,’ Rafael said. The bulky Mexican was grinning widely, showing gold teeth. ‘There is also a pretty little girl here.’

  The other bandits drew nearer, their interest piqued. From horseback, one of them lifted the side curtain to peer in at Alicia. ‘I would like a piece of that,’ Quinn heard one of the border raiders say.

  ‘I saw her first,’ Rafael said with just a hint of menace.

  ‘Leave her alone,’ Ernesto Guerrero told them. ‘There are plenty of women back at Soledad.’

  To Quinn it seemed that the outlaw was not speaking out of any concern for Alicia, but only to head off a fight among his men before it could get started. Nevertheless he was glad for Guerrero’s intervention.

  Because otherwise, he, like Mike Hancock, might just have thrown caution to the winds and drawn the hidden Colt to shoot down any man who tried to get rough with Alicia.

  Guerrero now stepped back from the coach and looked to the surrounding desert, assuring himself that there was no sign of immediate danger. He still held Lily Davenport’s hand – where had these two met? – but now he dropped it as he explained to the woman:

  ‘I did not bring a buggy for you – we couldn’t be sure that you were on the stage. If you will get back aboard, we will travel the rest of the way to Soledad. By evening, you shall have the comfort of a warm bath and a silken bed.’ Lily wore an expression of dazed gratitude. However Guerrero had charmed her, he had done his work well.

  ‘You, driver!’ the bandit leader called up. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Quinn,’ Tom answered. Guerrero shrugged as if the name meant nothing to him. There was no reason why it should.

  ‘Quinn, you are to ride inside the coach as well. My man, Paco here, can handle a team and he knows the way.’

  ‘Why should I go along?’ Quinn asked as a spiderlike, younger outlaw clambered up toward the driver’s box.

  ‘Would you prefer, Quinn, to be left alone out on this desert? You would have no hope of reaching Yuma, you realize.’

  Quinn did realize it. The miles of white sand, the blistering heat of the sun would defeat him before he could walk even a few miles. He handed the leather ribbons over to Paco, swung down and stepped back into the stagecoach where he had begun this unfortunate journey.

  With a crack of the whip the stage lurched into motion once again, driven by the spidery Paco whose idea of driving seemed to be to yell as frequently as possible and to continually pop the long whip above the ears of the team. The stagecoach was flanked by Guerrero’s riders, although Quinn did not see Ernesto himself as they rolled southward along a barely visible track across the white sand.

  George Sabato had a worried look on his red face. He tried to catch Quinn’s eyes as if to plead for help, but Tom just shook his head slightly. Guerrero seemed to know nothing about the gold. He hadn’t asked about it or even looked through the boot. Apparently his mission had been accomplished: he had gotten Lily Davenport. With luck, the bandits would not even bother to look under the luggage in the boot and discover the heavy canvas sack. Lily knew nothing about the gold, nor did Jody Short. Perhaps, having reached Soledad, Guerrero would simply release them to continue their trip to Yuma. After all, what use did the outlaw have for any of them?

  It was, Quinn decided, a scant hope, but then our lives hinge on such concepts. Truly, none of them except Lily Davenport could guess what the future held for them.

  Jody Short tried yet another ploy in his search for freedom.

  ‘Ma’am? Lily? When we get to where we’re going, do you think Guerrero can have these shackles struck from me?’

  ‘I have no idea what Ernesto will do,’ the lady said in the chilly tone of voice she had used when she thought that Quinn was refusing her wishes.

  ‘But you could talk to him, couldn’t you?’ Short asked, leaning forward, his eyes as earnest as he could make them.

  ‘I advise Ernesto on nothing. He does what he wishes.’

  ‘But if he was to ask you …’ Jody went on, a little more panic-stricken. ‘I mean, we’ve talked quite a bit, you and I. I’d be happy to join up with Guerrero if he wanted me.’

  ‘Why would you?’ Lily asked, her eyes half-closed now against the dust blowing into the coach.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Jody answered, perplexed.

  ‘You are an innocent man, you told me,’ Lily said. ‘Why then would you now be willing to take up the outlaw trail?’ Lily leaned back now and closed her eyes all the way. ‘You can’t have it both ways, Jody Short. Either you are a killer and would be willing to ride with Ernesto’s gang, or you are innocent of killing that young woman and have no business among the outlaws.’

  Jody cast about in his mind for a reply, but did not find one. He leaned back with a small moan and closed his own eyes.

  Quinn had listened to the conversation, but his eyes had been fixed on Alicia the entire time. Her dark eyes sparked and then grew cold. Her hands were clenched into fists so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. She was rigid in her seat as if she would hurl herself forward.

  Quinn could only shake his head. There was too much going on for a simple man like him. He only wanted to shake loose from this situation and somehow make his way back to his ranch in the hills along the Yavapai where tall pines grew in long ranks and the breeze from the mountains cooled the long land.

  In another hour, with Paco berating the horses and cracking the long whip all the way, they began to slow. Glancing out, Quinn saw scattered adobe houses, low and sun-baked, here and there a few desert-stunted willows, indicating some source of water nearby, and then with a following whirlwind of dust, the horses were reined in roughly, the brake applied and they found themselves in the heart of the outlaw town, Soledad.

  The dust settled slowly. Quinn saw more adobe brick buildings, these clustered together, nearly shoulder to shoulder, lining what might have been described as a street. Now Guerrero did reappear; apparently he had been riding behind the coach to watch for any possible pursuit. He was trail-dusty and the clothes he wore were dirty, but he smiled broadly, revealing a perfect set of white teeth. Lily Davenport, leaning halfway out the window of the coach, nearly gurgled with delight at this handsome figure of a man. A rustler, a killer, an outlaw – as she must have known. But who knew what secret dreams lurk in a woman’s heart? Maybe she was simply blind to Guerrero’s widely-known viciousness, took all of the tales about him to be lies.

  No matter, the lady was in love. That much was obvious.

  Lily leaped from the stage without waiting for anyone to assist her, and Guerrero swung down from his tall paint pony. They embraced again and Guerrero whispered
something into Lily’s ear which made her laugh, blush, and laugh again.

  With his arm around Lily’s waist, Guerrero shouted out commands in Spanish to his men, then turned Lily toward the open door of a low building where two people, a man and a woman, stood awaiting his approach, smiles creasing their dark faces. Guerrero and Lily entered the building, the plank door was closed, and the rest of the passengers waited in the stifling heat to consider their fates.

  ‘Listen to me,’ Quinn whispered, leaning forward so that his forehead nearly touched Alicia’s, ‘you are my wife, got that?’

  Alicia’s dark eyes widened but she only nodded. She whispered urgently, ‘That woman, Lily, she will know I am not.’

  ‘No, she won’t. You and I had a fight. You didn’t want to come back to me. Your father made you, so he stopped the stage to make sure that we were together again.’

  Alicia was thoughtful. She shook her head negatively. ‘The other woman will not believe this.’

  ‘For the time being she has other things on her mind,’ Quinn said. ‘It’s not safe for you to be alone with these men, understand?’

  Again she nodded. There was no fear in her eyes, only doubt. Neither Jody Short nor George Sabato, struggling with their own concerns, seemed to have heard a word of the whispered conversation.

  In another minute, Lon approached the coach. Apparently he had been put in charge of the prisoners because he was an American. Most of the other bandits seemed to speak no or only a smattering of English. Lon was hardly alone. Behind him in a shadow cast by the pueblo, there were three armed bandits watching them with wary, dark eyes.

  Lon tried a smile, but it was evident that the pale-eyed outlaw had little experience of using that expression. His eyes swept across Alicia and then fixed on those of Tom Quinn, hardening as they did. Lon had already measured his men and he knew which among them was the dangerous one.

  ‘Welcome to Pueblo Soledad, folks. Step down and I’ll show you to your accommodations.’

  FIVE

  The four of them – Quinn, Alicia, George Sabato, and Jody Short still in shackles – were herded into the low-roofed adobe with rough bunks positioned along the walls. Despite the lack of furnishings and no visible help, Quinn wondered if the building hadn’t been intended to serve as some sort of crude hotel when it was constructed. Otherwise, it seemed to serve no discernible purpose.

  Sabato paced the floor after their guards had gone outside and closed the heavy plank door behind them. Jody Short sank on to one of the cots and complained bitterly, ‘If I don’t get these manacles off, they’re going to have to amputate my hands. Look at my wrists!’ He held them up, but collected no sympathy.

  Quinn sat on a bed along the opposite wall and pulled Alicia down to sit beside him. He doubted that anyone believed his hastily concocted tale about Alicia being his changeable wife, but it seemed prudent to carry on with the charade. Alicia sat staring at the floor, hands between her skirted legs for a long minute. Then she shifted her gaze to Quinn’s face and asked in an urgent whisper:

  ‘What can we do now?’

  ‘Very little,’ Quinn had to tell her. ‘We’ll just have to wait until we have a chance – or until Guerrero decides our fate.’

  ‘I don’t think he will kill us,’ Alicia said with groundless optimism.

  ‘Maybe not, but I don’t think he’ll want us going on to Yuma to tell the law where he’s hiding out.’

  Sabato had heard a part of that. Now he stopped his pacing long enough to ask: ‘Say, which side of the border are we on? Is this Mexico or isn’t it?’

  ‘I can’t see that it matters,’ Quinn answered. ‘Not to us.’

  ‘I suppose not,’ Sabato grumbled. He resumed his pacing, still obviously concerned about the gold and what failing to deliver it to Yuma would mean to his career.

  ‘I’ll try to make sure you get through to Yuma,’ Quinn told Alicia. ‘Somehow.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said bitterly. ‘I don’t care about Yuma.’

  Quinn frowned. The girl had been so adamant about reaching Yuma. She and her father had stopped the stage en route. Now she no longer cared? Perhaps she had been running on some sort of timetable which could not now be met. He sighed.

  Maybe she was just as changeable as their transparent tale indicated.

  ‘Get some sleep,’ Quinn said, patting the bunk. ‘I’ll move over to that empty one.’

  ‘Won’t that look suspicious?’ Alicia asked, and her black eyes twinkled slightly with faint amusement.

  ‘I think that anyone would understand that these are not normal circumstances,’ Tom said, smiling for the first time in a long while.

  Alicia nodded and began removing the comb from her hair. Tom Quinn rose and she tilted her head back. ‘Shouldn’t you at least kiss me goodnight?’ she asked.

  ‘I suppose that would look better,’ he said. He leaned toward her, received a kiss as light as a butterfly’s touch and walked away, wondering. As he seated himself on the next bunk along the wall he glanced back at her. Her raven-black hair now fell free across her shoulders. Her hint of a smile was gone. Alicia now sat on the cot staring across the room with ill-concealed venom.

  Tom shook his head slightly. The woman was a mystery, and it seemed that was the way she wanted it. He gave up on trying to figure out matters for this night. He was bone-tired, he had developed a dull headache. Without removing his boots he stretched out on the cot, watching with one eye open until Sabato, finished with his useless pacing, lay on one of the opposite bunks and pulled a blanket across him. Jody Short also stretched out.

  They tried to sleep then, with varying degrees of success as the smoky lantern burned low and cast wavering shadows across the walls. Quinn had little reason for optimism, but he was not completely disheartened. After all, Guerrero had not immediately killed them all – maybe that was Lily’s influence, who could tell? They were still alive and so there was still hope.

  The other reason for Quinn’s distant optimism was the cool weight of the .44 Colt nestled against his spine.

  They would play hell trying to get that from him.

  *

  There was a dull red dawn light glowing in the high window of the ‘hotel’ when the door burst open and two men – Rafael and another bandit Quinn had not seen before – stamped into the room. This is it, Quinn thought, sitting up sharply. His hand caressed the butt of the pistol behind his belt, and he braced himself. But the reason for their visit was one he could not have expected or foreseen. The men ignored him, ignored Alicia, paid no attention to the sleep-fuddled George Sabato. They walked directly to Jody Short’s bunk and roused him.

  ‘Come on,’ Rafael said in heavily accented English, ‘we’re taking you to get those irons off.’

  Jody rose to his feet swiftly. Quinn heard him say exultantly, ‘I knew Lily would come through for me.’

  Had she? Hadn’t she? Quinn had no way of knowing. He rose, stretched and went to sit beside Alicia who was trying to pin her hair up again.

  ‘I need a mirror,’ she complained. ‘There’s one in my bag.’

  The bandits had not allowed them to remove their belongings from the stagecoach. Perhaps that was a good sign. Perhaps that meant they would be allowed to travel on soon. Perhaps it meant nothing at all. Quinn was growing tired of the confusion. The waiting.

  ‘I don’t think they even looked in the boot,’ Sabato said from across the room on hearing Alicia’s complaint. And that brought a weak smile to the stout little man’s lips. He was still hoping that somehow the hidden gold would not be discovered. Maybe it wouldn’t; maybe they would be allowed to continue their journey – that all depended on Guerrero’s mood. Which, Quinn reflected, should be lighter on this particular morning. They needed to talk to him.

  ‘Your hair looks fine,’ Quinn told Alicia, brushing back a dark tendril from her forehead.

  ‘It does not!’ she snapped back.

  She swept his hand away and rose to her feet to s
tand glowering into the shadowed interior of the low adobe. Quinn hesitated and then rose to stand beside her.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to make you angry.’

  ‘It’s not you,’ she said, when her angered breathing had slowed.

  ‘What, then?’

  Alicia turned to face him, her cheeks paling as her flush retreated. Her hand trembled as she reached for him, changed her mind and folded them together. She bowed her head.

  ‘Him,’ she said in a throttled voice. ‘They’re going to turn him loose.’

  ‘Jody Short?’

  ‘Yes, him!’ Her head lifted and her eyes met his again. ‘He is supposed to die and they are going to release him.’

  ‘Maybe. What if they do?’ Quinn asked, his frown deepening.

  ‘You know my name?’ she asked. He hesitated, looking for an answer. With a small shrug he responded:

  ‘Alicia.’

  ‘Yes. My name is Alicia … Delgado.’

  The murdered girl … Quinn said uncertainly.

  ‘Yes. She was my sister.’ Her eyes searched his anxiously, intently. When she spoke it was with extreme bitterness. ‘I was going to Yuma to make sure he was hung. I did not know he was on that stagecoach.’

  ‘But they would have notified you,’ Quinn said.

  ‘I understand that there are certain legal things … appeals, that can be filed and delay the execution, even suspend the sentence.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Quinn admitted, ‘but –’

  ‘And in this case there was no witness to the crime, or so they say. They might wonder if Jody Short had really done it, or if the jury was mistaken. They might have let him off.’

  ‘It’s possible, if unlikely,’ Quinn said.

  ‘That cannot be allowed to happen. Quinn – I was there that day. I saw him murder my sister.’

  ‘But, then …?’

  ‘That was what I was going to tell them in Yuma if he was not hung without my testimony. My father did not want me to go, but I am a determined woman.’