“What the hell?”
Anabeth heard the outlaws’ disgust and dismay, their terrible outrage when they realized Booth had brought only a pittance of the stolen gold with him.
“We’ve got to find the Kid,” Rankin said. “He’ll know where the gold is.”
But I don’t! Anabeth realized.
“We don’t know where to find the Kid,” Whiskey admitted. “Booth took the secret of that valley with him to the grave.”
Rankin swore again. “Then we’ll have to spread out and hunt for it. Even if we can’t find the valley, the Kid’ll have to surface sooner or later. When he does, we’ll be waitin’ for him.”
Anabeth hunched into as small a space as she could when the outlaws rode past her. They had been gone for several minutes before she could force her trembling legs to stand, and several minutes more before she could force herself to go to her uncle.
Booth was lying on the porch in a pool of blood. She put her hand over her mouth to force back the gag that threatened. She knelt beside him, afraid to touch him because he was wounded in so many places. “Booth.”
Anabeth had been so certain her uncle was dead that she gasped when his eyes fluttered open. “Booth! You’re alive!” Her heart leaped with joy that quickly turned to horror when she reached for his hand and encountered torn flesh instead.
“Booth, you need a doctor.”
“No doctor,” he rasped. “Too late for that.”
“Don’t say that!” Anabeth clasped Booth’s good hand in hers and brought it to her cheek. Booth couldn’t die! He was the only family she had left.
Anabeth saw the despair in her uncle’s eyes, the knowledge that the end was near. Booth’s face was ashen, his breathing shallow. Her uncle was right. It was too late for a doctor to do him any good now.
“I’m so sorry, Booth.”
“For what?”
“For being where I wasn’t supposed to be. If I hadn’t distracted you—”
“It wasn’t your fault, Kid. What happened was going to happen whether you were here or not.” He saw the disillusionment, the loss of innocence in her eyes. “You take the gold and you go to Colorado. You hear me? You get away from here as quick as you can.”
His eyes dulled and Anabeth felt panic at the realization he hadn’t long to live.
“Watch out for Rankin,” Booth rasped.
The tears in her uncle’s eyes frightened her. “I promise you they’ll suffer for what they’ve done to you, Booth. Every single one of them. Especially Rankin. I swear it, Booth. I swear it!”
“No, Kid! You have to get away!” A moan of pain was torn from his throat.
“Booth? What can I do? How can I help?”
He grasped her arm and she leaned down, putting her ear near his lips. He whispered something, words that made no sense.
“What did you say? I don’t understand.”
He whispered them again. The same meaningless words.
She wanted to shake him. It seemed so important to him for her to understand, but he wasn’t making any sense. “Booth, I don’t understand!”
“Kid …”
Anabeth stared at him for a moment before she realized he was dead. His eyes glazed. His thick black eyelashes looked unreal. His chest no longer rose and fell. His fingers went slack in hers.
“No.” Anabeth denied his death. “Please, Booth.” She felt anguish too painful to bear. “Noooooo!”
Later Anabeth was never sure how she got through the next several hours. She searched through the bushes until she found Booth’s two pearl-handled revolvers. She would use Booth’s own guns to wreak the vengeance she had sworn.
Somehow she managed to get Booth on his horse and back to the valley. There she dug a hole behind the stone house and buried her uncle beside her father, covering the grave with stones to mark it well.
She sat beside Booth’s grave, refusing to give in to the grief, nursing the desire for revenge instead. Outlaw or not, her uncle hadn’t deserved such a gruesome death. And for what? For a cache of gold that Anabeth hadn’t been able to find in a very thorough search of the valley. The secret of Booth’s horde had died with him.
Anabeth vowed that Wat Rankin and the rest of Booth’s outlaw gang were going to pay for their treachery. She couldn’t go to the law. The law would only be glad to be rid of one more outlaw. So she needed a strategy, some cunning plan to avenge her uncle’s murder.
The answer came to her like a flash of lightning in a mountain thunderstorm. Crisply defined, overwhelming, and absolutely beautiful in its simplicity.
Booth’s gang would be looking for Kid Calhoun. But they knew nothing about Anabeth. Finally, she was going to realize her dream of becoming a lady. She would hide out in Santa Fe as prim little Anabeth “Smith” and watch the gang’s movements. Then, when they least suspected it, Kid Calhoun would swoop down and wreak awful vengeance for her uncle’s death.
4
“Please let me pass.”
Claire Chandler lifted her chin as she met the insolent gaze of the cowboy standing in the doorway to Sullivan’s Mercantile. She should have stayed at the ranch until Jake arrived. She should have known better than to make the trip to Old Horse Springs alone. But she had sent her desperate message to El Paso over two weeks ago, and there was still no word from her brother. She had made the wire concise and to the point:
Sam murdered. Gold stolen.
Need help to save Window Rock.
Claire
Why hadn’t Jake responded?
Claire wasn’t going to be able to hold off men like the one standing in her way for much longer on her own.
“You’ll be needin’ help with that package, Miz Chandler,” the cowboy drawled, reaching out for it.
“I can manage.” Claire tightly clutched the cloth bag that contained five pounds of coffee, three tins of peaches, and ten boxes of .45 caliber bullets. She was expecting trouble at Window Rock.
Claire didn’t delude herself that any of the men who had approached a grieving widow with proposals of marriage were the least bit interested in her welfare. They wanted the ranch. Window Rock was a prime piece of land, located near some of the best water in western New Mexico.
Worst of them all was Will Reardon. How could she and Sam have been so wrong about the man! As their closest neighbor, Will had been among the first to come calling to pay his condolences on hearing of Sam’s death. When she had turned her face up to Will seeking comfort, he had looked her in the eye and said he would be glad to marry her and forget about the loan due on Window Rock. She had avoided answering his proposal by pleading her grief. He had left, but Claire knew he would be back.
Claire swallowed over the lump of sorrow that lodged in her throat. She had hoped the vultures would wait a little longer before beginning to circle. She couldn’t face the loss of Sam. She had scarcely recovered from the loss of her son.
Every single day she relived the memory of the last moments she had seen Jeffrey alive. Her son had been so pleased as he sat on his pony beside his father. A gap-toothed grin had split his face from ear to ear. He had been wearing a red-checked cotton shirt with pearl snaps, black jeans, and shiny black boots—all birthday presents.
Her tiny son, his white-blond hair tucked under a hat that was too big for him, had proudly ridden away with his father—and never come back.
Funny, how she could remember every detail of how Jeffrey had looked—and not one single thing about Sam’s appearance the day he had left Window Rock for the last time.
Oh, God! If only she could have that day to live over again! Sam, Sam! I did love you once. I’m sorry I didn’t kiss you good-bye. I’m sorry I blamed you for losing Jeff. I’m sorry I turned my shoulder to you in bed. I’m sorry you died thinking I hated you. I’m so sorry!
The bag nearly slipped out of Claire’s hands. She grasped at it and caught it at her hip. The cowboy was quick to put his arms around it—and her. Claire worked to keep the desperation out of her voice as sh
e said, “Let go of me.”
“Seems you need a man’s strong arms to help you out, little lady. There’s some hard-lookin’ desperados ’tween here and Window Rock. Bein’ widowed and all, you ain’t got a man no more to—”
“I’ll be seeing the lady home.”
The cowboy turned to cuss out whoever had been stupid enough to interrupt him and stepped back with an audible gasp. The size of the man standing there would have been enough to intimidate all by itself. The implacable look in the man’s gray eyes boded ill for anyone crossing him. A narrow scar ran through his mouth, turning it down on one side, giving him a fierce, hard as whetstone appearance.
The cowboy tipped his hat to Claire and backed away until he was sure he was going to be allowed to leave. Then he turned and scurried—that was the precise word that came to Claire’s mind—scurried away.
She turned to the man who had caused the cowboy to flee and asked, “Do you always have that effect on people?”
“Afraid so.” His lips curled in disgust. “I’ve never gotten used to it.”
“I’m glad you came, Jake.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“I was worried when I didn’t hear from you.”
“I was busy. Had some business to finish for the Rangers. When I got your message I was already halfway up the Chihuahua Trail, so I decided to come ahead rather than stop somewhere to wire I was on my way.”
Claire noticed the five-point star hammered from a Mexican cinco peso coin that was pinned to Jake’s shirt, half-hidden beneath his black leather vest. She had never been so grateful that her brother was a Texas Ranger as she was now. Jake would make certain that the man, or men, who had robbed and murdered Sam were brought to justice.
Claire longed to step into Jake’s arms, to give comfort, and to receive it. Things weren’t that easy with her brother. She stood there feeling awkward, letting her eyes say everything her lips didn’t.
Thank you for coming. I’m frightened. I need your help.
Jake realized Claire was slowly but surely dropping the package in her arms. He took it from her and was amazed at how heavy it was. “What’s in here?”
Her smile accentuated the lines of grief on her face. “Coffee and peaches. And bullets.”
He raised a black brow. “Expecting a little trouble?”
“More than a little.”
Jake was forced to put a hand around Claire’s shoulder or watch her fall. “Where can we get a cup of coffee?”
She gestured toward the cantina and Jake headed off in that direction past a row of one-story adobe and wooden buildings. There was no sidewalk, and the spring rains had left the street muddy. Claire’s hem gave mute evidence to the fact she had already done some walking in town. Not that there was much to the town, just two rows of facing buildings that had grown up around the springs. It was enough to justify a stop by the Overland Stage.
All eyes turned toward them when they entered the dingy adobe building. There was a decided hush as Jake walked all the way to the back of the cantina. He seated Claire at a round wooden table, then took a chair that put his back to the adobe wall. As soon as they were settled, the cantina erupted in whispered exchanges.
A withered Mexican woman came to wait on them, and Jake ended up ordering a steak, pinto beans, rice, and tortillas to go with his coffee. When the food arrived, he wolfed it down like a starving man and asked for a second helping.
Amused, Claire asked, “When was the last time you ate?”
“Don’t remember,” Jake managed between bites. “Must have been day before yesterday.”
During the meal, Claire took advantage of the opportunity to tell Jake everything she knew about what had happened to Sam. It wasn’t much.
“He had sold the cattle in Colorado and was on the last leg of his journey back home when the stagecoach was held up. They brought his body back to me.”
Jake stared around the room rather than confront the despair in Claire’s hazel eyes. He scowled when he realized several of the men in the cantina were surreptitiously ogling her.
He could hardly blame them. Even with reddened eyes and exhausted from lack of sleep, his sister was a beautiful woman. Even more enticing was the appearance of vulnerability caused by her huge, doelike eyes. Her upswept honey-colored hair had begun to fall down in wisps at her brow and nape. Though she had a woman’s body, she was tiny enough to raise a man’s protective urges.
She would have been a prize for any man, even without the ranch. Only, from what Claire had said, the men who had come calling were a lot more interested in Window Rock.
“You wouldn’t believe the proposals I’ve gotten,” she told him. “Young and old, rich and poor. I think I’ve had a visit from every man within a hundred miles of here. A few of the offers I’ve received seem sincere; most of them aren’t. And then there’s Will Reardon.”
“What’s special about him?”
“Last fall Sam decided to buy out a rancher who was heading back East, but he didn’t have enough money. So he borrowed from Reardon. He was sure he could sell his cattle this spring and pay Reardon back. Only all the gold Sam got for the cattle was stolen when he was killed.”
“And Reardon wants payment on the note anyway,” Jake deduced.
Claire’s eyelids lowered to conceal the bleak hopelessness she felt. “He said he’s willing to marry me and forget the note.”
“Hell and the devil!” Jake muttered. “How much do you need to pay him off?”
Claire mentioned a figure that was considerably more than Jake made in a year with the Rangers.
She leaned forward in her chair and crossed her arms on the scarred wooden table. “I don’t want to marry again, Jake, but I won’t have any choice if I can’t come up with the cash to save the ranch any other way.”
“Have you thought about selling out?”
Claire’s hands fisted. Her eyes flashed with anger. Her voice was all the more intense because she struggled to keep it calm. “I never wanted to leave Texas and come to New Mexico in the first place. I never needed the ranch, Sam did. He planned for Jeff to carry on after him.”
Claire fought the emotion that threatened to choke her into silence. “Now both of them are gone. Window Rock is all I have left. I’ll be damned if I’ll give it up without a fight!”
“If I can recover the gold, will that solve your problems?”
“It would be a good start,” Claire replied.
“I’ve got some questions to ask at the Overland Stage office. Do you want to come with me?”
Claire shuddered, remembering how Sam had looked lying on the wooden-planked floor of the stage office. Blood had left rust-colored stains on his long johns surrounding the single bullet wound near his heart. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll wait here for you.”
The Stationmaster stiffened when Jake’s shadowed body appeared in the door to the stage office. He visibly relaxed when he spied the five-point star on Jake’s chest. “Howdy, Ranger. What brings you to town?”
“What can you tell me about the holdup that killed Sam Chandler?” Jake asked.
The Stationmaster took out a pocketknife and began sharpening his pencil. “Well, sir, that was a bad day for sure. Three men killed, one wounded.” He clucked and shook his head at the tragedy. “Quite a miracle, that one man surviving,” the Stationmaster added. “Gus Hemp is one lucky fella.”
“Oh?”
The man chortled. “All trussed up like a pig for the spit, he was. Supposed to be gutshot. But Gus was carryin’ a Bible in his shirt. Bullet hit the Bible ’stead of his innards. Gus was bleedin’ some, but rarin’ to go when we found him.”
“Did Gus see any of the robbers? Can he identify any of them?”
The Stationmaster nodded vigorously. “By golly, he did! One of them, the one called Kid, pulled his bandanna down when Mr. Chandler was shot. Gus said he’d know that face anywhere.”
The Stationmaster crossed to the wall and pulled down a
piece of paper that was tacked there. “Here’s a picture right here of the Kid, the one Gus saw. Stage company had it drawn up and posted with a thousand-dollar reward for the Kid’s capture, dead or alive. Heard tell there’s a kid rides with the Calhoun Gang. Don’t know if this is the same one.”
Jake took the WANTED poster from the Stationmaster and looked at the youthful face with the name Kid Calhoun below it. Jake whistled softly. The reward for the Kid’s capture was nearly as much as Claire needed to pay the note. “Can I have this?”
“I guess so, seein’s how you’re going after the Kid. You are goin’ after him, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I am.”
Jake folded the poster and slid it into his vest pocket. “Did Gus say how many were in the gang that robbed the stage?”
“Eight. Plus the Kid. Nine in all. Gus said one of the robbers was wounded. Don’t know how bad it was, though. He was still standin’.”
“Anything else you can tell me? Any idea which way they headed?”
The little man tapped the counter with a bony forefinger and leaned forward to speak confidentially. “Heard Booth Calhoun—he’s the boss of the Calhoun Gang—has a kept woman in Santa Fe. You might start lookin’ there.”
“What’s her name?”
“Don’t know for sure. You can ask in Santa Fe. Somebody’s bound to know.”
“Thanks.”
Just before Jake stepped out the door, the station-master said, “You’re a long way from Texas, Ranger. What’s your interest in this?”
“Sam Chandler was a friend of mine.”
“You plannin’ to marry the widow? Mighty fine-lookin’ woman, if I do say so myself. Heard tell she’s—” The man quailed at the look on Jake’s scarred face.
“Mrs. Chandler is my sister. Bear that in mind next time your tongue starts flapping before your brain starts working.”
“Yessir. Mighty fine—that is—good churchgoing woman, Mrs. Chandler.”
Jake shook his head as he turned and left. Men made awful fools of themselves over women. It was a trail he was determined never to travel.
He met up with Claire, and in no time they were out of town and on the meandering road that led to Window Rock. He drove Claire’s buggy, his horse tied on behind. Jake found pleasure in sitting beside her even though scarcely a word passed between them. Claire occasionally pointed out a landmark or a cactus flower or a bad rut in the road.
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