Silver City

by Jeff Guinn

  A ring of hills loomed. They were still two miles or more ahead, but because the land in between was so flat and bare, they seemed closer. Ike pointed and said, “Right there.” He noticed McLendon swallowed hard. Mulkins looked sad. Saint glared at the back of McLendon’s head.

  Another mile, and Ike felt compelled to offer reminders. “The big man, he said to come at noon and not before. We’ll have a half hour or so in hand. Might find some shade in the rocks on a hilltop. You other two stay back with me, McLendon rides down into the valley. The lady will ride up to join us.”

  The hills were long and only gradually became steep. They were able to stay mounted. The horses had no difficulty with the ascent. Near the top of one hill, several large boulders nestled close together and offered a broad patch of shade.

  “Let’s light here,” Ike suggested, and they did, first looking carefully for any rattlesnakes curled under the rocks. They tethered the horses, trying to keep them at least partially in the shade too. As Ike had predicted, they had almost thirty minutes to wait. So they sat in the shade by the horses. Ike rummaged in his saddlebag and withdrew a can of peaches. “Share, anyone?” he asked. Mulkins said no, and Saint shook his head. McLendon didn’t respond, didn’t acknowledge Ike’s generous offer with so much as a nod. He just sat with his back against a rock, staring off into the distance. Under other circumstances Ike might have thrashed him for his discourtesy, but, things being as they were, he chose not to take offense.

  Ike ate his peaches with considerable slurping and smacking of lips. The fruit and juice were delicious. He thought idly again about killing Mulkins and Saint once McLendon had been swapped, but burying them afterward seemed like a terrible bother. Maybe he’d just leave them for the buzzards, like that poor bastard they’d found naked and bird-pecked the day before.

  This happy rumination was interrupted by Mulkins, who leaned over and whispered, “Time, Ike?”

  Ike made a show of extracting his watch from a pocket and carefully studying its face. “Let’s see,” he said. “Just about . . . looks like . . . yes, five minutes from straight-up noon. There’s still a little bit of hill to climb, so we’d best get going. We can leave the horses here, except for McLendon’s. He’ll need to ride down into the valley to keep his appointment.”

  19

  At dawn on Saturday, Patrick Brautigan walked away from his guard position by the shed, heading, Gabrielle guessed, to an outhouse or to breakfast. With him gone, she resumed a position at the peephole and watched the rest of Clantonville come to life. Those people she could see seemed subdued. Phin’s beating probably weighed heavily on all who’d witnessed it or even just heard his screams.

  Gabrielle waited for someone to bring her breakfast, but no food arrived. There was some water left in the jug Hettie had brought the previous night. Gabrielle drank it all. Then, more to keep busy than out of any sense of modesty, she tried adjusting her shirt. Its remaining two buttons seemed firmly in place, but the front still gaped. She experimented and found there was less bosom exposed if the shirt remained untucked, so she left it that way. There was no improving the rats’ nest that was her hair. The knots in it offered painful resistance when she tried untangling them with her fingers. The combing motion made her ribs hurt. So Gabrielle studied her fingernails instead. She’d never decorated them with polish or paint, and kept them relatively short. Now several were broken in places, and all ten nails had packed crescents of dirt underneath. She scraped at these with her teeth, to little avail.

  This very basic toilet concluded, there was nothing left to do but wait. Gabrielle tried not to imagine the exchange, how it would feel to see Cash McLendon arriving to save her life by surrendering his own. Such thoughts would lead to further despair, which in turn could sap her resolve to do something, she wasn’t sure what. The main thing, she decided, was not to let Brautigan sense her new resolve. In some way, perhaps he could be taken off guard.

  Gabrielle waited several more hours in the shed, until at least nine or so by her estimate. Then footsteps approached, the door opened, and Brautigan gestured for her to come outside.

  “No talking,” he reminded her. “Do precisely as I tell you.”

  Gabrielle nodded and blinked in the bright morning sunlight as she emerged. A few feet away were the two horses and the mule. There was one more horse, a big one. Newman Clanton held its bridle.

  “Mount up,” Brautigan ordered, gesturing toward the small horse she’d ridden since her abduction. Before she could, Hettie approached, looking at the old man for permission.

  When Clanton nodded, Hettie said to Gabrielle, “Here. For your shirt,” and handed her two crudely carved clothespins. “I hope they’ll help. I was told you didn’t have time for me to properly mend it.”

  Gabrielle took the clothespins and squeezed Hettie’s hand. She was tempted to defy Brautigan by speaking her thanks, but didn’t want to alert him to her new, braver attitude. She used the pins to close her shirtfront on top and toward the bottom.

  “On the horse,” Brautigan said, and Gabrielle obeyed. Once she was in the saddle Brautigan told her, “For now I won’t bind you. You can guess what will happen if you try to get away.” Brautigan extracted the Winchester from its scabbard on his saddle and thumbed cartridges into the rifle. “Every precaution,” he said to Clanton. “Now let’s be going.”

  It seemed impossible to Gabrielle that the fat old man could possibly swing his thick leg up and over the back of a horse, but he did, and in quite a spry manner. “We ride west,” Clanton told Brautigan. “Soon as we sight the hills around the valley, you’re on your own.”

  “After what your boy did last night, you owe me additional service,” Brautigan said. “Make sure we get close, and accounts will be squared. For now, lead the mule. I’m keeping my eye on the girl.”

  They kept a steady pace. Gabrielle listened to the creak of their saddles, and to water sloshing in canteens. Brautigan rode to her left and slightly behind. He was well positioned should she kick her horse in the ribs and attempt to bolt, not that any such attempt would be successful. Her horse was so very small and slow. Why had Brautigan brought such an undistinguished mount?

  Because they were riding west, the morning sun was behind them. This lessened glare but burned the backs of their necks. As Brautigan had predicted, Gabrielle regretted not taking the hat of the young man he’d killed. Blood-soaked as it was, it still would have afforded protection from the sun. At one point, Brautigan produced kerchiefs from his pocket and dampened them with canteen water. He handed one to Gabrielle and said, “Wear this.” She wrapped it around her neck and felt immediate relief, but not gratitude. Brautigan didn’t give a damn about her discomfort. He just wanted her upright for the exchange, not collapsed in the saddle from heatstroke.

  —

  AFTER SOME TWO HOURS, Clanton reined his horse and pointed. A ring of hills was ahead. Because the morning was so hot, the air between the riders and the hills shimmered, so that the hills seemed to dance in place.

  “Devil’s Valley’s in there,” the old man said. “The hills circle right around it. I’d appreciate you approaching from a different direction, maybe from the south instead of east. Don’t want a straight trail back to my place.”

  “A reasonable precaution,” Brautigan said.

  Clanton said, “Now pay me.” Brautigan produced a roll of bills and peeled most of them off. He handed the money to the old man, who jammed the bills in his pocket. He wheeled his horse alongside Gabrielle’s and said, “My boy shouldn’t have done it. I apologize sincerely. Forget the Clantons.” He handed the reins of the mule to Brautigan, said, “Make sure nobody talks, now,” and rode east.

  Brautigan tied the mule’s reins to his saddle horn. Then he told Gabrielle, “Stay as you are.” He produced some rope and bound her hands in front of her. The knots were tight. Her fingers tingled with immediate loss of circulation. “If you beha
ve, this’ll be only for an hour,” Brautigan said. “After the exchange, whoever’s bringing you home can get you untied.”

  They rode along the hills. When they had reached the southernmost, they began riding up. Brautigan led Gabrielle’s horse by the reins because by now her hands were too numb to guide the mount herself. A few isolated saguaro cacti dotted the upslope. There were boulders at the top. Brautigan halted behind them. Gabrielle welcomed the shade.

  “We’re about to get to it,” he told her. “This is how it will go. You’ll follow my instructions exactly. If you don’t, I’ll kill McLendon before your eyes, and then it will be your turn. Do you understand?”

  Gabrielle nodded.

  “In a minute we’re going to go over the rim and down into the valley. We’ll ride to the center and wait there. McLendon and some other will be on the hill across. He’ll ride down. You will stay at my side as he comes. You’ll not say a word at any time. When McLendon reaches us, when I’ve satisfied myself that he’s unarmed and cooperating, you’ll be allowed to ride across the valley and join whoever it is that’s taking you home. When you reach him, he may untie your hands. Then ride north. Do not look back. And do not tell this person, don’t tell anyone, anything about what’s happened. They can guess all they want, but you’re never to so much as hint about me or any of it. If you do, you die, and your father dies, and also the sheriff turned schoolteacher and your relations back in St. Louis. I have your promise?”

  She nodded and wondered how she could do something with her hands so numb. In the same moment, she felt hungry, practically starving. Odd how the body expressed its basic needs even in the most suspenseful moments.

  “You’d best keep your word,” Brautigan said. He pulled out the Winchester and brandished it in front of her. “Don’t think about trying to thwart me at the last moment. I expect I’d kill you both with my hands or boots, but failing that, I’d shoot you. Dead is dead.” He stowed the rifle back in its scabbard.

  Brautigan drank from a canteen. He didn’t offer water to Gabrielle. Then he leaned down and took each foot in turn from the stirrups. Using the kerchief he’d previously soaked with water and tied around his neck, Brautigan lovingly polished the steel tips on the toes of his boots. When they glistened in the noon sun, Brautigan took his horse’s reins in his left hand, the reins of Gabrielle’s horse and the mule in his right, and led the way to the top of the hill. There was a little wind, not much, but enough to swirl loose dirt. Looking down, squinting against the dust, Gabrielle saw a vast flat valley completely unpunctuated by plants or rocks or water. The hills opposite were fully a half mile away, perhaps more.

  “We’ll ride down now,” Brautigan said.

  The slope into the valley was slightly steeper than it had been going up. The horses and mules had to pick their way. Gabrielle, watching Brautigan, was reminded of some animal predator sniffing the wind, looking suspiciously in all directions, all senses alert. For the first time that day, she felt a wave of helplessness. She couldn’t stop him. No one could. Don’t think that way, she told herself. It doesn’t help. There has to be something. I can’t let Cash die like this. But as they made their gradual way down, she didn’t seem able to think of anything besides her numb hands and the futility of fighting Patrick Brautigan.

  When they reached the valley floor, Gabrielle gasped for breath. It was torturously hot. The sun overhead cast down roasting rays, and the surrounding hills blocked any wind. There were no clouds.

  “Devil’s Valley deserves the name,” Brautigan muttered. He raised his hand to shade his eyes, looking up at the northern hills ahead. “Nothing yet.” He fiddled with the reins, arched his shoulders to loosen his back. “He’d better show,” Brautigan said to Gabrielle. “If he doesn’t, and this has all been effort wasted, it’ll be you who pays.”

  All morning, she hadn’t considered that possibility. Maybe Cash had thought better of it; perhaps he’d chosen to run. Now that she had her own experience with Brautigan, in some sense she couldn’t blame him if he’d made that decision. Brautigan was a monster without conscience. If Cash even now was in flight, leaving her to die instead, she wished she had some way of telling him that she understood. And if she was about to be murdered, she hoped she’d at least be able to kick at Brautigan, strike at him with her numb, bound hands, anything to demonstrate that yes, he could kill her, but no, she disdained him to her last breath.

  Gabrielle was thinking of what she would do, what final gesture she might make, when Brautigan, still staring at the northern hills, grunted.

  “There they are,” he said. “McLendon’s here.”

  20

  When Ike Clanton announced that it was time, McLendon stood up and walked a few yards away from the others. He unbuttoned his trousers and relieved himself against a rock. His hands trembled, though not much. He hoped that no one would notice.

  “All right,” he said when he was finished. “Ike, I guess you can stay here, or go on, whichever you choose.”

  “Oh, I believe I’ll stay around to see things through,” Clanton said. He sounded excited, like a child being treated to the circus.

  “Makes no difference,” McLendon said. He mounted his horse and rode up the remainder of the slope. Clanton, Saint, and the Major followed on foot. They didn’t have to rush to keep up. McLendon rode slowly.

  They reached the top and looked down into the wide bowl of the valley. Saint blurted, “Yes, there she is!” and pointed. Perhaps a half mile away, blurred by the shimmering air in between, a figure on a small horse was dwarfed by the hulking man on horseback beside her. Details were difficult to discern. “Get down there, McLendon. We need Gabrielle back safe.”

  “I’m going, Joe,” McLendon said. He stared down at the two figures, fixing his gaze in spite of himself on Brautigan’s unmistakable bulk. Death on horseback.

  “I could ride down with you, C.M., at least for a ways,” Mulkins offered. “Just to provide company.”

  “None of that, Major!” Saint snapped. “He’s to go alone. We stick completely to the instructions. What matters is Gabrielle.”

  “And McLendon’s to be unarmed,” Clanton added. “That gunbelt’s got to go.”

  “Shut up, Ike,” Mulkins said. “If you’re going to stay here, keep your damned mouth closed.”

  “They’re both correct,” McLendon said. “We have to think of Gabrielle.” He unbuckled his gunbelt and handed the holstered Peacemaker to Mulkins. “I guess you can have this, Major.”

  Mulkins gazed into the valley. “A half mile shot’s not unheard of. We’ve got the Winchester. I could try to take Brautigan down. You’ve told of that mile-long shot by someone at Adobe Walls.”

  “That was Billy Dixon, maybe the best shot on the frontier, and he had a Sharps. At this distance with a Winchester, you’d be as likely to hit Gabrielle, if your bullet came close at all. No, I’m going down.” McLendon fumbled in his pocket and extracted the bills he’d brought from Mountain View. “Here’s at least a portion of your generous loan back, Major, and also part of the money from Mayor Camp. If possible, could you return some of it to his family? Perhaps you might keep a hundred or so for Gabrielle, in case she might need it.”

  “All right,” Mulkins said, swallowing hard.

  McLendon turned to Saint. “Joe, I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused you. Will you shake my hand?”

  Saint kept his hand at his side. “Just go.”

  “As you wish.” McLendon said to Mulkins, “You’ve been my true friend. You and Joe get Gabrielle home safely.”

  There were tears in Mulkins’s eyes. “We will.” He and McLendon clasped hands.

  “So.” McLendon wheeled his horse.

  “You’ve not bid farewell to me,” Clanton complained. “I demand that courtesy.”

  “Good-bye, Ike Clanton,” McLendon said, and rode down the slope toward the valley.

 
—

  IT TOOK GABRIELLE several moments to make out the men atop the hill. At first they were wavering dots, three, no, four of them. That many? Her heart leaped; Cash had brought a posse to rescue her. Then she saw that three were on foot. Only one was mounted, and he began riding down the slope into the valley while the others waited. Cash was going to do it, then, trade himself for her.

  Beside Gabrielle, Brautigan began breathing harder, just a little, more air pulled deeper into his lungs and then exhaled swiftly, with a slight snorting sound emanating from his nostrils. The change would have been undetectable to almost anyone else, but Gabrielle had been with Brautigan for some time now, and she could tell. His victim was arriving, and the monster was exhilarated. There were only moments left. If she was to do something, it had to be now. Even if the binding around her wrists was cut, Gabrielle doubted she could inflict much damage to Brautigan with her numbed hands. Feet, then? Could she kick him, knock him off balance? But her horse was much shorter than Brautigan’s. The angle was impossible. Maybe kick her horse’s ribs, startle the animal into bolting forward? The other men on the hill might storm down then—wait, they were dismounted, and there were no horses beside them. They must have tethered their mounts on the other side of the crest. The distance was too great for them to cover on foot before Brautigan could spur his own horse and overtake Gabrielle.

  As she pondered these things, Cash came ever closer, not galloping but keeping his horse in a brisk trot. He got completely down the slope to the flat valley floor—dust kicked up around the horse’s hooves, the dirt was very loose there. He’d covered half the distance, she could see him clearly now, the thin dark beard, the wiry frame, the man she loved. So much time together had been lost, and now she had to think of something, do something, she had to try, and so because she couldn’t think of anything else she flexed her feet to drive her heels into her horse’s ribs, and that was the moment when Brautigan’s massive hand gripped her arm hard and he hissed, “Be still, missy, or I’ll kill him right now. Then it’s your turn, and after that I’ll get those on the hill.” His grasp was viselike. Brautigan held on to Gabrielle as Cash rode up. “Still no talking,” the giant warned Gabrielle. Then he called to Cash, who was a half-dozen yards away, “Stop there, McLendon. Just for the moment.”