Dance With A Gunfighter

by JoMarie Lodge

  But the skies stayed clear.

  As the day wore on, Gabe went outdoors to wait with the others. By sunset, the women openly stared toward the west. They stood side by side, calico dresses limp against thin bodies and their arms crossed over flat chests. With straw-colored hair pulled back in a tight bun, and brown, sun-parched skin, they seemed to have taken on the look of the desert they lived in. As they scanned the skies, they wore the dour expressions of those that lived with hardship, and expected it to continue.

  Gabe talked with the children and tried to distract them from their mothers’ worries and her own. Jess would return. She knew he would. A few Apaches or hold-up men couldn’t stop him.

  By nightfall, the women who lived nearby returned home, but six families who lived farther out chose to spend the night in town. Mrs. Huckleby opened her rooming house to them. The parlor was turned over to seven school-age children--from Charlie Walker, age five-and-a-half, to Susan Flint, age fifteen--to sleep on the floor. Five babies stayed with their mothers.

  "Mrs. Larkin and Mrs. Grimes can have my room," Gabe said to Mrs. Huckleby in deference to the two oldest women in the group.

  She went into the parlor to join the children. Three Flints, one Bailey, one Walker and two Grahams. She had met them all as she went on her visits.

  Confusion marred the faces of the youngest children, but the three oldest, Susan Flint, Dickie Graham and Laura Walker, peered up at her with firm determination in their eyes. They were strong, Gabe thought, these frontier children. Already they had learned to keep the fear in their hearts a secret and to wear a calm demeanor around those who were weaker than themselves. Yet they cared as fiercely as anyone.

  "What’s this?" she asked. "I’ve never seen you guys so quiet."

  The older ones shrugged and the younger ones giggled.

  "Who knows how to play Simon Says?"

  "That’s a sissy game." Dickie Graham folded his arms and scowled. Dickie, at twelve, the oldest of the Graham brood, had cheeks red and full as apples. He overcame his chubby, cherubic looks by having a temperament as contrary as vinegar.

  "You think it’s easy, do you?" Gabe challenged.

  "Of course it is," he said.

  "You think you can beat Simon?"

  "I know I can." He smirked.

  "We’ll see, won’t we?" Gabe put her thumbs in her belt loops and swaggered around the parlor tougher than any gunslinger. "Anybody else brave enough to take on Simon?"

  To her relief and with Dickie’s help, even though he might not have realized it, all the children joined the game, making it laugh-filled and fast-paced enough even to hold Dickie’s interest. He lost.

  Afterward, Gabe led a sing-along about the mishaps of "Sweet Betsy from Pike" and her lover Ike. As it grew later and the little ones began to nod off, Gabe lulled them by softly singing "Simple Gifts."

  Her mother had loved to sing to her and her brothers, and that song was one of her favorites. After her mother’s death, there were no songs in the Devere house for several years. Gabe could still remember the evening--she guessed she was seven or eight--that she quietly began a nonsense song her mother used to sing about the sow who got the measles. A stricken look had filled her father’s eyes, but then her brothers joined in, and soon, all four of them were singing together. After that, the house was always filled with song. It had brought them pleasure and comfort, as Gabe hoped it did now for these children.

  As the children fell asleep, Gabe, too, lay down on the floor and whispered goodnight.

  "Gabe?" A girl’s soft voice called to her.

  She lifted her head to see Susan Flint’s serious face peering at her. "Yes?"

  "Thank you for staying with us," Susan said.

  "Don’t worry," Gabe replied, understanding the real reason for the girl’s words. "They’ll be all right."

  The children tossed and turned, and before long, ended up all crisscrossed, half on each other and Gabe, and half on the blankets. Somehow, they fell asleep. And somehow, despite her worry about Jess, Gabe did, too.

  o0o

  At the first light, the vigil began again. A search party was out of the question. If Apaches had attacked the men, the town might be next, and anyone who could shoot a rifle would be needed there. Small Apache uprisings had taken place all over the area.

  The hours crawled by.

  In late afternoon, Ben Graham, one of the miners who had gone to Tucson, reached town, his horse lathered and blowing hard. A crowd gathered around him as he slid from the saddle, barely able to stand.

  "Get Doc Shannon," Graham said. "Will Tanner’s gang ambushed us."

  "Was anyone killed?" one woman asked.

  "I don’t know for sure. But I do know the doc’s needed real bad. The men are still two, three, hours out of town, traveling slow."

  Panic seized Gabe.

  "Did Tanner get our money?" another woman asked.

  People grumbled that anyone would ask about money when lives were on the line.

  "We stopped him."

  Despite themselves, a sigh of relief went through the crowd.

  Doc Shannon ran for his bag while two of the boys hitched horses to his buckboard. The doc wasn’t a real doctor, but he had help sew up a few Confederates during the War and knew more about doctoring than anyone else in town.

  Gabe ran to the livery stable for Maggie. Quickly saddling her, she followed Graham and Doc Shannon out of town, riding hard to catch up to them, but not so close that they could order her back.

  Don’t you dare be hurt, Jess McLowry, she whispered, her heart pounding with fear. Or anyone else, she added, thinking of the women and children she had come to know and respect over these two weeks.

  They rode for what seemed like hours. Dust clogged her throat. The desert played tricks with her eyes, making far things close and near things far. More than once she thought she saw them, only to discover she had seen nothing. Finally, riders appeared on a distant ridge, silhouetted against the sky. Gabe could see them even more clearly than she could see Doc Shannon’s wagon just ahead of her through the dust. Men on horseback riding two by two, plus the wagons, cut a sharp relief on the horizon. A steam-like haze rose up from the ground and made them seem to shimmer, as if they were ghost riders instead of men. The image frightened her, and she pushed Maggie harder.

  Finally, she reached them. The men who hadn’t been hurt were helping the others. All plodded along, dirty, grimy, bloodstained, their hats slouched low, bandannas used for bandages. Jess wasn’t among them.

  Heat and dust from the gathering of horses made Gabe’s eyes water as she searched for Jess.

  Then, far in the distance, she saw a lone rider slumped in his saddle, his flat-brimmed hat nodding with the swaying gait of his horse. She slapped the reins, urging Maggie forward once again.

  "Jess!" she screamed, her throat raw.

  It was all McLowry could do to stay in the saddle. His shoulder hurt like hell from a bullet. He’d been awake almost forty-eight hours, since the first time Tanner’s men attacked. Just a bit farther, he kept telling himself, and he would reach town...and Gabe.

  The past two days he thought he would never see her again. To his dismay, he learned how much it mattered to him--more than anything in his life. He hadn’t wanted that.

  He looked up, his head fuzzy. The men in front of him had stopped and dismounted. Tanner’s men couldn’t be attacking again, could they? That was why he had stayed behind--to protect their flank--knowing that Tanner liked to attack from behind, not out in front. He blinked hard, trying to see.

  A single horse rode toward him. It was Gabe. His Gabe. McLowry slowly dismounted, every muscle aching, his legs barely able to support him.

  Gabe slid off Maggie. She was ready to throw her arms around him when she saw the blood on his shirt, and the odd way he held his arm against his chest. "You’ve been shot," she cried, grabbing hold of him, helping him stand.

  "It’s nothing." He draped his good arm over her shoul
ders, his breathing heavy. "The bullet passed right through."

  Her arms shook as she steadied him, then she gently touched his dirt-streaked face. He was perspiring, and clearly in pain, but he wasn’t feverish. "You’ll be all right now," she whispered.

  "I know." He didn’t expect this surge of...what? happiness? joy? at seeing her again. He forced a wry little smile despite the way his whole arm felt like it was on fire. "Hey, you weren’t worried about me, were you, cousin? Didn’t I tell you I’m too mean to kill?"

  "Oh, you!" She didn’t know what to say, but just shook her head, overjoyed to see him and desperate for the doctor to look at his arm.

  As they walked toward the men, pride filled Jess’s voice. "You should have seen them," he said. "That little band of miners and farmers held off Tanner’s gang of outlaws and finally drove them away. They were great."

  "Any chance Tanner was killed?"

  McLowry’s mouth tightened. "Tanner wasn’t there. Just his men. He probably didn’t think he needed to show up, himself, against a bunch of miners and farmers. He most likely expected it’d be like taking candy from a baby."

  "He didn’t know you were with them."

  "No," McLowry said. "Not then, he didn’t."

  "Damn that man!" Gabe cried. "He was responsible. Whether there or not, he was responsible!"

  "We’ll stop him, Gabe."

  "Now, he’s even hurt you. My God!" She gazed up at him. She knew she couldn’t hide the feelings that were so strong her chest ached with them. She heard his breath catch, and watched his eyes soften.

  Suddenly, the hubbub that had been around them stopped, and everything grew still. McLowry’s expression went hollow and strained. Gabe turned toward the group of men.

  They stood in a circle around a man lying on the ground. Their heads were bowed, their eyes downcast. Doc Shannon rose slowly to his feet, his shoulders slumped. He had done what he could, but it hadn’t been enough. McLowry and Gabe moved forward, and the circle opened to include them, to let them see who lay dead. Gabe’s world began to spin and an unreleased cry made her shake with the effort of holding it inside. She pressed her knuckles hard against her mouth.

  Roy Flint. His three children had been with her last night. Michael, Mary, and Susan, the oldest. Susan...only fifteen years old, but putting on a brave front with the younger children, mothering them, helping Gabe calm them and comfort them. And now, she was the one who would need comforting. Gabe could scarcely breathe for her anger and hatred of Will Tanner.

  If she had found him and killed him, Susan would still have a father. Her hands clenched so tightly, her nails dug into her palms. May your soul burn in hell, Will Tanner, for the death you’ve brought to good men and the heartache to those who loved them. Someday, she vowed, someday Tanner would pay.

  At dusk the outfit reached Dry Springs. Some people ran to meet them, but many stood in silence on the boardwalks. Word of Roy Flint’s death had reached the town long before the group arrived. The procession was somber despite the mission’s success.

  As they reached the main street, someone began to clap for the men, and then another joined in, and soon the whole town applauded and cheered for the survivors, despite the tears they shed for the one who would never again walk among them.

  They rode to Doc Shannon's house where Mrs. Huckleby and other women waited to help the wounded.

  Mrs. Shannon took charge of McLowry. She cleaned his wound with antiseptic, and bandaged it, then told him to get some sleep and to see the Doc in the morning.

  McLowry nodded, but Gabe, who hadn’t left his side, could see he was so tired he hardly knew where he was, let alone what he was agreeing to. The man looked more in danger of exhaustion than anything else and she half-carried him down the dark street to Mrs. Huckleby's. The house was filled with people again tonight, but Mrs. Huckleby had left a room free for McLowry.

  Gabe helped him stumble toward the bed. He flopped on top of it, on his stomach, and almost immediately fell asleep.

  She knew he would sleep better without his boots and pulled them off. Then she looked at his denims. He would sleep better without them as well.

  His clothes were grimy and he was lying on top of the blankets. She managed to roll him over on his good arm and pull the blankets free. Then, reminding herself she would have done the same for her father or brothers, she tugged off his denims. Long johns, as she’d expected, covered his bare skin, but she found it a lot harder not to check their fit than she ever dreamed of with her father or brothers. Quickly, she pulled the blankets over him, then leaped back.

  His eyes opened. He looked at the surroundings and seemed startled, but she hurried forward. "I’m here, Jess," she whispered. He must have decided he was safe, because he shut his eyes and slept again.

  You are safe, she thought. Finally safe. She leaned forward and kissed his temple. Looking at him sleeping, at the light and shadow cast by the sculpted planes of his face, her heart grew so full she feared it would overflow. She softly patted the long-fingered hand she had come to love, careful not to disturb him, and quietly left the room. Someone else needed her tonight.

  Downstairs, the adults sat in the kitchen consoling Mrs. Flint, while the five children who remained in the boarding house had been sent into the parlor to sleep.

  Gabe went directly to the parlor and stopped at the doorway. The children sat on the floor. Susan Flint’s long, pale blond hair caught her eye immediately. Susan sat with her little sister and brother trying to comfort them and be strong for them. The other two children sat apart. One was drawing and the other cutting paper dolls out of a Sears and Roebuck wish book.

  Gabe drew herself up and made her voice strong. "Hey there," she said, walking into the room.

  A chorus of "Hey" greeted her in return. Susan raised her head at the sound of Gabe’s voice. Her face was ashen, her eyes red-rimmed. Gabe felt tears sting her own eyes, but she couldn’t give in to them. She sat beside Susan on the floor and took her hand, gripping it tightly, as she addressed the younger children. "Who’d like to hear a story?" she asked.

  "I want to," six-year-old Mary Flint said. "Tell me about bad angels."

  "Bad angels?" Gabe asked, but as soon as the question left her lips she realized the danger in the way Mary might answer.

  "Mama said my daddy is with the angels. She said they took him to heaven. But they killed him. They’re bad!" She began to cry. "I want my daddy to come home."

  Silent tears rolled down Susan’s face.

  "Come here, Mary." Gabe held out her arms and the child curled onto her lap. Their nine-year old brother, Matt, turned his back on them and buried his face in his folded arms. Gabe saw his shoulders shudder, but no sound came. He had probably been told boys don’t cry, and he was manfully trying to hide his tears. The heartache of these children was unbearable.

  Holding Mary close, Gabe did the best she could to interest them in a long, suspenseful tale about Paul Bunyan and his blue ox, Babe. She kept her stories going until all the young ones were asleep.

  Gabe sat on the floor with her back against the wall. Susan sat beside her, her hands folded on her lap, her head bowed. Silence stretched a long while before Susan lifted her head, her eyes solemn. "They say the man responsible for killing my daddy is named Will Tanner. I heard you’ve been looking for him. Is that true?"

  Gabe was surprised the children knew about her quest. "It’s true. I only wish I’d found him before this happened."

  "Why do you want him?"

  Gabe wondered if she should say. But then she realized that Susan Flint, perhaps more than anyone else, would understand how she felt. "He killed my pa," she said quietly. "And my brothers."

  The girl’s face seemed to grow even paler. Her eyes darted over to her young brother and sister asleep on the floor, then to Gabe. "How did you bear it?" she whispered, more to herself than anything. "I’m sorry," she held Gabe’s eyes. "I’m so very sorry."

  Gabe nodded, not knowing what to say when sh
e had come to comfort, and instead, received it.

  Susan’s jaw clenched. Her body shook with outrage. "Let me come with you. I’ll help you find him. I’ll help you kill him!"

  "No, Susan."

  "Yes! I have to." Angry tears formed in the corners of her eyes. "I hate him," she cried. "I hate him the way you do. I’ll help you. I know I can!"

  Gabe folded her arms, bowing her head against the poignant ache that spread through her. This girl reminded her far too much of herself, of her own reaction. A moment passed before she could speak. "Thank you for your offer, Susan. Right now, though, your ma needs you to help her with your little brother and sister."

  "She doesn’t need me. You do! Please." Angry tears spilled over her cheeks.

  "You’re wrong, Susan. Your mother needs you now more than ever. I have no one at home. No one. That means I can spend my time trying to find Tanner and his gang. You still have a home, and a brother and sister, and your ma. You need to stay with them."

  "But I have to do something."

  "I know you do," Gabe whispered. "Send me your prayers, Susan. If I can, I’ll come back here in a few months, and I’ll tell you I was victorious."

  "What if you aren’t?"

  Gabe lifted her chin. "Then we’ll talk about what else to do."

  "Promise?" Susan’s gaze met hers square on.

  "I promise," Gabe said. She hugged the girl tight, then leaned back against the wall, shutting her eyes. Susan lay down, her head on Gabe’s lap.

  Neither of them slept that night.

  Chapter 13

  When Gabe checked on McLowry the next morning, he was awake and sitting up in bed scowling. His face was pale under several day’s growth of beard, and the dirt and dust from the trail were caked on him.

  "What happened to my clothes?" he asked.