A Coffin for Santa Rosa

by Steve Hayes

  Gabriel took a wild guess and said quietly: ‘She’s goin’ to rent boxcars an’ ship ’em out of here. Right?’ he said to Raven.

  ‘Right.’

  ‘You know how much that’ll cost you?’ Devlin said to Raven.

  ‘Don’t matter,’ she said loftily. ‘See, what you don’t understand, Mr Devlin, is I’m rich. Oh, sure,’ she said when Devlin looked doubtfully at her attire, ‘I don’t look it. An’ I sure don’t talk like it. But my uncle back in Old Calico owned a bank and lots of land an’ stuff. And when he was killed in an earthquake he left everything to Momma. And when she passed, she left it to me. Ain’t that true?’ she said to Gabriel.

  ‘I was there when the lawyers had her sign the papers,’ he said. ‘She felt like it, she could buy a whole train.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ Devlin said. Dismounting, he offered Raven his hand. ‘All right, little lady, you got yourself a deal.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The morning sun was shining brightly when they pulled into Deming. The regular train was not due until after lunch and the windows and doorways of the station and the balconies of the adjoining Harvey House were crowded with curious people. They had heard rumors that a special train was coming and had seen its smoke curling up from far off across the wasteland.

  Most of them were townspeople, white and Mexican, along with a few Apaches who had walked in from the reservation. They watched, fascinated, as Raven first unloaded her horse and then the all-black Morgan. Brandy, fired up by the excitement of the moment, was a little skittish but otherwise gave her no trouble and the onlookers applauded her skill. Next Gabriel and two hired wranglers unloaded their already-saddled horses; and then the gate of a second boxcar was opened and out poured the wild mustangs.

  They came out in a panicked, wild-eyed rush, jostling each other as they clattered down the ramp, and were immediately herded together by the mounted wranglers.

  Gabriel caught a glimpse of Sheriff Cobb and his shotgun-carrying deputy amongst the crowd, and threw him a half-salute. The sheriff tipped his hat to show he’d seen Gabriel and then pointed toward a saloon, miming that he would buy him a drink.

  Gabriel nodded, and rode up alongside Raven. ‘Any time you’re ready, boss.’

  Raven stood up in her stirrups and looked about her, first at the crowd, then at the flat, open land stretching in the direction of the Cooke’s Range and finally at Gabriel. ‘Let’s go,’ she said, ‘’fore I change my mind.’

  Gripping Brandy’s rope, she kicked up her horse and rode off toward the mountains. Gabriel signaled to the wranglers to move the mustangs out then galloped after Raven.

  They rode at an easy gait across the wide plain for about three hours. The sandy gray soil was covered by a patchwork of yellow-green scrub-grass, clumps of prickly pear cacti, and tiny forests of yuccas. There was no cloud cover and the sun beat relentlessly down from the nude blue sky.

  Stopping only to rest their horses and stretch their legs, they crossed the vast, open scrubland, cutting across gullies and dry lake beds ringed with lava deposits. Around noon they rested briefly in the shade of a scarecrow-shaped rocky outcrop. Here, they lunched on jerky and hardtack, washing everything down with tepid, copper-tasting water from their canteens.

  At Gabriel’s suggestion Raven kept a rope on Brandy, fearing the Morgan might make a run for it once they were in the open. But the stallion seemed to sense that what was happening was for his own good and made no attempt to act up. Nor did the mustangs cause any problems. They were content to stay with their leader, grazing on the dry, sunburned grass and green yucca shoots growing on the hillsides.

  By mid-afternoon they entered a deep alkali draw full of tombstone-shaped boulders that was called the Devil’s Cemetery. They followed it for a mile or so, gnats flying about their heads, and then found themselves riding through an empty canyon flanked by cliffs of garish crimson rock.

  Gabriel suggested they release Brandy and the mustangs here. But Raven insisted on pressing ahead. There was nothing wrong with the canyon, she explained. She just didn’t feel it was the right place. When Gabriel asked her how she’d know what the right place was when she came to it, she shrugged and said: ‘I don’t know. I’ll just know.’

  The wranglers rolled their eyes, but said nothing.

  They rode on.

  Finally, after following a soft sandy trail along the base of a steep ridge, they came to a long narrow valley sheltered on both sides by craggy, red sandstone cliffs. There was an abundance of coarse green grass and greasewood, indicating the water table was high along with the possibility of a spring hidden among the rocks, and Raven instantly reined up and signaled for the others to stop. ‘This is it!’ she exclaimed.

  Gabriel and the weary wranglers swapped looks of relief.

  ‘Be sure now,’ Gabriel said to Raven. ‘Don’t want to turn them broomtails loose an’ have you go changin’ your mind.’

  ‘I’m positive.’ She turned to the Morgan, adding: ‘You like it here, don’t you?’

  Brandy snorted and tossed his head, his long black mane gleaming in the glaring sunlight.

  ‘See?’ Raven said. ‘He agrees with me. From now on this is his home.’

  Gabriel gestured to the wranglers, who nudged their mounts away from the herd of mustangs. The broomtails seemed to know they were free. They drifted apart, gradually forming a loose circle, and began eating the grass, tearing it up in tufts and swishing their tails to chase away the persistent flies.

  Gabriel dismounted, sat on a rock and rolled a smoke. Raven crooked her leg over her saddle, one hand still holding the rope around the Morgan’s neck, and stared wistfully about her.

  ‘We’re doin’ the right thing, aren’t we?’ she said after a long pause. ‘Lettin’ Brandy go, I mean?’

  ‘It’s what we agreed on,’ Gabriel said.

  ‘You don’t sound too happy about it.’

  ‘Don’t have to be happy to do the right thing.’

  ‘Ain’t changed your mind, have you?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘It’s the best thing for him, you know.’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘Living with us in the city, whether it’s San Francisco or Sacramento, would make poor Brandy miserable.’

  ‘Ain’t disputin’ that.’

  ‘Then what is it?’

  Gabriel looked at the Morgan, met the black stallion’s dark, solemn gaze and tried to explain to himself why he was sad about releasing a horse that always seemed intent on biting or maiming him in some way or other.

  ‘I knew it,’ Raven said, smiling. ‘You love him just like I do. No, don’t deny it,’ she added as Gabriel protested. ‘Can pretend all you want, call him all the bad names you like, hit him with that dirty ol’ hat of yours an’ even threaten to sell him for glue – it don’t matter a hoot. You love him and he loves you, an’ that’s all there is to it. So, what do you think about that, Mr Gabriel Moonlight, sir?’

  He exhaled a lungful of smoke and gave her a piercing look. ‘My hat ain’t dirty,’ he said. Stubbing his cigarette out on the rock, he walked to his pony and mounted in one swift, gliding movement.

  ‘Where you going?’

  ‘Back to town.’

  ‘Aren’t you gonna say goodbye to him?’

  ‘I already done that when I agreed to turn him loose.’

  ‘Fine.’ Raven watched him ride off, followed by the wranglers. ‘Be an ol’ grouch. See if I care.’ Dismounting, she loosened the loop around Brandy’s neck and flipped it over his head. ‘You’re free!’

  The stallion shook his head, nickered, and pressed his muzzle against her shoulder. Then he was gone, like a loosed hawk, galloping off toward the mustangs.

  Tears stung Raven’s eyes. ‘Dangit, pull yourself together,’ she told herself.

  A rider reined up behind her. She turned and saw it was Gabriel. She met and held his pale-blue gaze for a moment and then unashamedly broke into tears.

 
Gabriel dismounted and put his arm around her.

  ‘I’m s-so mad,’ she sobbed. ‘I p-p-promised myself I wouldn’t cry and … oh, hell,’ she exclaimed. ‘Hell, hell, hell. When am I’m goin’ to grow up and quit being such a baby?’

  ‘You done the right thing,’ Gabriel said gently. ‘An’ I’m mighty proud of you for it.’

  ‘It is the right thing, isn’t it? I mean plenty of city folks keep horses, lots of horses, but you know sure as a bird on the wing they ain’t happy.’ She paused as Brandy now left the herd and came trotting up to them. ‘Look,’ she exclaimed, ‘he’s coming to say goodbye to you.’

  Gabriel grunted, as if scoffing at the idea.

  The Morgan stopped a few feet in front of them. He gently pawed the ground and nickered, at the same time lowering his head as if asking to be petted.

  ‘Go on, Gabe,’ she pushed him toward the stallion. ‘Don’t be so stubborn. Rub his nose.’

  Suspicious, Gabriel hesitated.

  ‘Go on, pet him. He wants you to.’

  Again Gabriel hesitated; then, ignoring his instincts, he reluctantly reached out to rub the Morgan’s muzzle.

  Instantly, Brandy charged him.

  Gabriel tried to jump aside. But he was too slow and the Morgan playfully butted him in the chest, sending him sprawling.

  Raven doubled over with laughter.

  Covered in dirt, Gabriel sat up and angrily cursed the Morgan.

  Brandy pranced around him, nickering as if amused, and finally stopped in front of the irate gunman. For a long moment man and horse stared at each other. Then the stallion tossed his head, whinnied, and trotted back to his herd.

  ‘That’s the funniest durn thing I’ve ever seen,’ laughed Raven.

  Rising, Gabriel slapped the dirt from his clothes with his hat. ‘Lucky for him you were along,’ he said, scowling after Brandy. ‘Elsewise, I would have shot him.’

  Raven only laughed harder. ‘Should’ve seen yourself,’ she said as he mounted his pony. ‘Rolling over and over like a tumbleweed catched up in the wind.’

  They rode to the mouth of the valley, where the wranglers awaited them, and looked back for a final look at the Morgan.

  Brandy stood proudly posed on a flat rock part way up a hillside overlooking the mustangs. Maybe it was the fire in eyes or his wind-tossed mane, or maybe the way his coat glistened in the late afternoon sunlight like polished ebony, but for that moment he was everything God meant a horse to be.

  Raven, overwhelmed by the sight, could only gape in silence.

  Gabriel, noticing she was fighting tears, tried to think of something to cheer her up. But the way his quirky humor worked, all he could come up with was: ‘Now I remember. Wasn’t buttermilk pancakes at all.’

  ‘W-What?’

  ‘I was wrong,’ he said.

  ‘’Bout what?’

  ‘Restin’ on the seventh day.’

  Tears forgotten, she gave him a puzzled look. ‘What in blue blazes you talking about?’

  ‘The Good Lord. Come Sunday He wasn’t fixin’ buttermilk pancakes, he was out in the corral creating Brandy!’

  Raven laughed despite her mood. ‘Without a doubt, Mr Moonlight, sir, you are the most long-windiest, sneakin-the-back-door-thinking kind of person I ever met when it comes to explaining yourself.’

  The wranglers chuckled and Gabriel smirked as if she’d complimented him.

  Raven, more upbeat now, looked lovingly at Brandy. ‘Think we’ll ever come back to see him?’

  ‘Reckon that depends.’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘If I can put up with your cantankerousness.’ Winking at the wranglers, Gabriel nudged his horse in the direction of Deming.

  ‘Hah!’ Raven said, spurring her mount after him. ‘You ask me, mister, it’s the other way round.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  It was dusk when they got back to town. Paying off the wranglers, they took a room for the night at the Commercial Hotel. This time the pompous desk clerk made no discriminating slurs about Raven being a half-breed; in fact, he treated her with ingratiating respect, asking her if she wanted perfumed soap and bath water brought up to her room. Raven smiled graciously. That would be nice, she said. She nudged Gabriel, whispering that he could use a bath too.

  Ignoring her, he accepted a Mexican cheroot from the desk clerk, flared a match on one of the lobby’s cowhide lampshades and went across the street for a drink at Los Gatos. The little adobe cantina was crowded and noisy and Gabriel had to elbow his way up to the bar.

  The barkeep greeted him cheerfully. But when Gabriel went to pay for his whiskey and beer chaser, the chubby mustachioed Mexican shook his balding head. ‘Your money no good, señor. Sheriff Cobb say he pay.’

  ‘That’s mighty charitable of him,’ Gabriel said. He gulped down his whiskey and prepared to drink his beer, when out the corner of his eye, between all the men lined along the bar he saw a familiar, unwelcome figure enter.

  He didn’t know why, but the sight of Latigo Rawlins disturbed him. He wasn’t afraid of the handsome little gunfighter – he feared no man – but he did feel as if an icy hand had just gripped his jugular.

  Meanwhile Latigo, who’d paused by the batwing doors long enough for his eyes to grow accustomed to the dimly lit cantina, now squeezed his way up to Gabriel.

  ‘Heard you were in town,’ he said amiably.

  ‘From who?’

  ‘Sheriff Cobb. I ran into him an’ that nephew deputy of his outside the Baker Hotel. Said you and the young gal you run with had ridden off to set some broomtails free.’

  ‘I don’t “run” with her. I look after her.’

  ‘Sure, sure, it’s all legal. I understand. No offense meant.’ Latigo signaled for a drink. While he waited for it, he rubbed a speck of dirt from his sleeve. ‘I hear she inherited a heap of money.’

  ‘Why would that interest you?’

  ‘Everything concernin’ you interests me, amigo.’

  ‘Funny. Nothin’ about you interests me.’

  ‘You tryin’ to rile me, Gabe?’

  ‘Was about to ask you the same thing, “amigo”.’

  Latigo smiled, his teeth animal-white against his tanned skin, but under his long blond lashes his amber eyes grew hard as marbles. Waiting until the barkeep had set a bottle of rye and a glass before him, he carefully blew into the shot glass and wiped the inside clean with the tip of his yellow bandana. Then he poured himself a drink and raised the glass in toast.

  ‘To soft saddles an’ softer women,’ he said. He downed the rye, held the empty glass up to his eye and studied Gabriel through it. ‘I got to thinkin’ the other day. You an’ me, amigo, we’re all that’s left. Everyone else like us has been gunned down or, like Earp, rode west to California. We’re dinosaurs, just like Sheriff Cobb says—’

  ‘Rawlins,’ Gabriel said bluntly, ‘either button it or tell me what the hell you want.’

  ‘To bend an elbow with an ol’ pal, what else?’

  ‘Bull!’

  The word exploded from Gabriel and men all around them jumped back from the bar in alarm, fearing gunplay would follow.

  ‘You’n me, bounty hunter, we were never pals.’

  ‘No,’ Latigo said softly, ‘now you mention it, reckon we weren’t.’

  ‘So why you crowdin’ me?’

  Latigo turned and faced Gabriel, hands dangling near his ivory-handled six-guns.

  ‘Fella has to earn a livin’, amigo.’

  The icy hand on Gabriel’s jugular gripped tighter.

  ‘The reward,’ he said disgustedly. ‘I should’ve guessed.’

  ‘A thousand dollars is a thousand dollars.’

  The cantina went quiet. Customers ducked fearfully behind tables and chairs. All eyes were riveted on the two gunmen.

  ‘Por favor, señors,’ began the fat-faced barkeep.

  ‘Shut up!’ Latigo snapped.

  ‘Sí, señor. I shut my face.’ Fearful, the barkeep crawled out from b
ehind the bar and ran to the door, only to find his exit blocked by Sheriff Cobb and his shotgun-toting deputy.

  ‘Appears I got here just in time, gents.’

  ‘Stay out of this,’ Latigo told him. ‘Gabe an’ me, we’re about to settle some old business.’

  ‘Not here. Not now,’ Sheriff Cobb said. He stepped aside and two more deputies also carrying scatterguns entered.

  ‘I got a legal right to collect the governor’s reward,’ Latigo said angrily. ‘An’ I intend to do it.’

  ‘’Mean you’ll try,’ Gabriel corrected.

  ‘Move aside, Mr Moonlight,’ Sheriff Cobb warned. ‘I don’t want you getting shot full of holes when this rooster tries to slap leather.’ As if on a hidden signal, the deputies cocked their shotguns. The metallic click-click of their hammers sounded thunderous in the silent cantina.

  Latigo Rawlins knew when to fold. Reluctantly lifting his hands from his guns, he tucked his thumbs in his gunbelt and kept his eyes fixed on Gabriel as he backed toward the door.

  ‘I can wait, Sheriff,’ he said mockingly. ‘You can’t protect him once he leaves Deming.’

  ‘Protect me from what?’ Gabriel said. ‘You want to eat my lead, Rawlins, I’ll be happy to oblige you.’

  ‘Wait, wait, wait,’ Sheriff Cobb said hurriedly. ‘If you boys are so anxious to face off, then by God let’s make a show of it.’

  ‘Meanin’?’

  ‘Play it like all the dudes back East think it takes place – a showdown. Main Street. Noon. I’ll see it’s fair an’ legal. Hell,’ he said as an idea struck him, ‘I’ll even get Pete Weyborne to bring along his shutter-box so he can record everything for history.’

  Gabriel grinned mirthlessly. ‘Still promotin’ your memoirs, huh?’

  ‘Why not?’ Sheriff Cobb said shamelessly. ‘The Earps and Clantons put Tombstone on the map. You two could do the same for Deming. It’s no skin off your nose an’ it’ll make my rockin’-chair days more comfortable.’

  ‘And at the same time do every lawman in New Mexico a service,’ Latigo said, ‘that the way you see it?’

  ‘Won’t deny that crossed my mind,’ Sheriff Cobb said. ‘But like I’ve told you boys all along. Your day’s played out. Territory’s growing up. It’s got no use for mavericks like you anymore. By staying alive all you’re doin’ is standing in the way of progress.’