by Ralph Cotton
Paco and Shaw gave each other a bemused look. "Don’t mention it,’’ Shaw said quietly.
To Paco, Sibott said, "What am I going to say when Madsen asks me about the fight?’’
Paco and Shaw looked at each other again. Paco replied as he stared hard at Jones and Lying Earl, who stood watching through the doorway, "Tell him there was no fight. I will tell him the same thing, that I saw no fight. Which is the truth, I didn’t see any fight. I only saw you fall into the fire,’’ he added, hardening his stare at Jones and Earl. "Did either of you see a fight?’’
"Well, no,’’ Jones said, "come to think of it.’’
"No fight as far as I could see,’’ Lying Earl added. "If you want to hear about a fight—’’
"Shut up, Earl,’’ said Jones.
"You’d do that for me?’’ Sibott asked Shaw. "Not let Madsen know what happened here?’’
"I won’t if you won’t,’’ Shaw said quietly. He turned a cold stare to Jones and Lying Earl. "If he hears about it we’ll all know who told him.’’
"It won’t be me,’’ said Jones. He gestured toward Lying Earl and said, "Madsen won’t believe nothing he tells him anyway.’’
"Then we all have a secret, don’t we?’’ Shaw said, looking from one to the other.
"We sure do,’’ said Jones, "and don’t go thinking you need to kill us to keep us quiet, Bert,’’ he said to Sibott. "I swear nobody is going to hear about it from us. You’ve got our word on it.’’
The three watched as Jones and Lying Earl backed away from the doorway, turned and disappeared out of sight. "What do you think, Paco?’’ Shaw asked.
"I think they are both too afraid of either of you to say anything unless Madsen presses them real hard,’’ Paco said, liking the idea of Shaw asking for his opinion. He turned to Sibott and saw a new respect for him reflected in the big fighter’s eyes. "And you,’’ he said with authority, "if he asks you what happened, tell him you were on the way to find Shaw when you fell into a fire out back. I will say I saw you fall. All right?’’
"All right.’’ Sibott stood up, his eyebrows gone, his shirt full of burn holes, his big lumpy face smudged and glistening with burns and blisters. "I—I owe you one, Fast Larry,’’ he said sincerely.
Shaw only nodded.
Once Sibott was also out of sight, Paco said to Shaw, "If you’re all through making new friends, I will finish showing you around the village.’’
"Yeah, let’s go,’’ Shaw said. He stepped toward the doorway and said, "Show me where the girl and her mother live.’’
Paco raised a dark eyebrow. "It will make no difference if I tell you that going there is a bad idea, will it?’’
"Not a bit,’’ Shaw replied.
"I thought not,’’ said Paco, striding past him in order to lead the way.
As the two stepped out and walked along the dusty street, Shaw asked, "Who is Deacon Lucas?’’
"So, you heard Madsen threaten the girl by telling her Deacon Lucas would take her home, eh?’’ Paco said.
"Yep, I caught that,’’ said Shaw. "Who is he? Where will I find him?’’
"He is not here right now, but he will be coming back any day,’’ said Paco. "Deacon Lucas Leeman is the leader of the Leeman Gang. They started as scalp hunters for the Mexican government years ago, but now they ride the border with us.’’
"What kind of man is he?’’ Shaw asked, having heard of the Leeman Gang but wanting to hear Paco’s opinion.
"Deacon Lucas is not a man, he is a low, rotten devil,’’ Paco said, spitting as if to get the name Deacon Lucas out of his mouth. "I believe even Madsen fears him.’’
"Why is the girl so afraid of him?’’ Shaw asked, feeling as if he already knew the answer.
"Because she knows he wants to get his filthy hands on her, if he has not done so already. If he has not, I have no doubt he will do so before we leave here.’’
"Had you planned on doing anything to stop him when that happens?’’ Shaw asked bluntly.
After a silent pause, Paco said, "Yes, I will shoot him. I did not think about it before, but now that you bring it to mind, yes, I would have shot him already if I found he laid his hands on her.’’
"That’s good to hear,’’ Shaw said flatly.
"I mean it,’’ said Paco. "I know that I have done nothing so far, but then, neither has he. If I caught him trying to harm the girl, by the saints I would stop him. This I swear to. That pig.’’ He spat again.
Shaw looked at him. "So, me being here brings out your better nature, eh?’’
Paco looked embarrassed, but then he smiled. "I must admit, I have thought little of the girl and her mother because this is how things are done in my land. The strong only take . . . the weak only give. This is why I live the life I live. I decided to be one of the ones who take, eh? Much like yourself?’’ He searched Shaw’s eyes for some sort of approval. "Am I wrong to make such a choice, in a land where choices are so few?’’
"Believe me, Paco,’’ Shaw said, walking on, "I’m not the one to ask.’’
"I understand,’’ Paco replied. He grinned as they walked along, "I know it will be ’interesting’ riding with you.’’
Only moments after Shaw and Paco had left the cantina, Madsen pushed his empty wooden cup away and told Turner, "I’m going to take care of some personal business.’’ He gave Turner a knowing wink. "You and the boys drink up. I’ll join yas later. Until then, I don’t want to be disturbed.’’
Turner nodded. "But you’ll want me to send for you if Deacon Lucas and his men show up?’’
"Yeah, in that case, be sure and send for me,’’ said Madsen, before turning and walking out the back door.
He walked through the littered alleyway with deliberation, a black cigar clamped between his teeth, his fits clenched loosely at his sides. When he arrived at the small adobe where Francisca and her mother lived, he didn’t bother to knock. Instead he shoved the door open and barged in, knowing the fear his sudden presence caused in the woman. "Where is that little nit of yours?’’ he demanded, glaring at her, liking the startled look of terror that always came to her dark eyes at the sight of him.
"Who, Francisca?’’ The woman rose from the table and stood shakily, her face still bearing the painful reminders of his last visit.
"Hell yes, Francisca,’’ Madsen said. "Who other little nit would I be talking about?’’
"I—I don’t know where she is,’’ said the woman, looking all around as if the child might be hidden somewhere in the small, sparsely furnished room. "She brought food from the cantina.’’ She gestured at the basket sitting on the table. "But then she left again. Is something wrong?’’
"Damned right there’s something wrong,’’ Madsen said gruffly. As he spoke he took off his hat and hung it on the wall peg inside the door, the spot where only her husband’s battered straw sombrero used to hang. "She damned near got her stupid little head shot off a while ago. Didn’t you hear the shooting, you stupid woman? Or were you too deep in enjoying another siesta?’’ he asked with contempt, unbuttoning his shirt as he spoke.
She didn’t answer, because no answer would be the answer he wanted to hear; yet any answer could send him into a rage and make him beat her. Instead she bypassed his question and inquired cautiously about Francisca. "She was in danger? At the cantina?’’
"What did I just say?’’ he replied gruffly, taking off his gun belt, draping it over a chair back. He jerked his shirttails from his trousers, unbuttoned his shirtsleeves and held his arms outstretched on either side. "A couple of my men were faced off against a killer who rode in off the desert. She warned him . . . stuck her nose right in where it didn’t belong. I’m thinking about carrying her over and tying her to a post, leaving her there for Deacon Lucas when he gets back. He’s been pressing awfully hard for her, you know.’’
Again, she knew better than to answer. He didn’t want an answer. She had learned that much of what he said was only meant to frighte
n and torment her. She knew why he was here and what he wanted from her. She also knew better than to resist. She stood waiting, dreading, knowing what came next.
"Get over here, Ramona,’’ he demanded. "Take these clothes off me.’’ He leered at her. "Mescal and tequila make me as randy as a range stallion.’’
She did as she was told. While she undressed him, Madsen looked down at her trembling hands and said in a kinder voice, "You’ve done all right by me, Ramona. Thanks to your hospitality I’ve seen to it that Nito has had the best food and care of any man in the mines.’’ He grinned. "My work can be awfully demanding. Keep taking good care of me and I’ll keep taking good care of Nito. In fact, I’ll be bringing him home to you real soon.’’
"You—you will?’’ She dared not act too happy, show too much emotion.
"That’s right,’’ Madsen said. "I’m taking off the rest of what he owes me based on how well you take care of me these next few days.’’ He grinned and pressed her down onto her knees in front of him. "Now put your heart into it and show a little appreciation.’’
Outside, the girl remained partially hidden by a stack of firewood she had ducked behind as soon as she’d spotted Madsen headed toward her house. She had seen what went on when he was there and the memory of it made her skin crawl. Besides, she reminded herself, after what had happened earlier at the cantina, it would be better to stay out of his sight. He was certain to be angry with her.
She stood crouched, watching the house so intently that she did not see the gunman, Jake Matthews, until he had crept up close in the empty alleyway and grabbed her firmly by her shoulder. "Got you!’’ he said, turning her to face him so quickly that before she could bolt and run, he had managed to get an arm around her waist and pull her against him tightly.
"Let me go, please! Let me go!’’ she said, struggling, kicking and clawing at his chest.
He shook her roughly. "You best settle down. Don’t make me cuff you around, little darling,’’ he said with a dark chuckle, bowing his face close to hers. "What are you doing here, spying on your ma and Madsen?’’ He looked toward the small adobe, then down at Francisca with a drunken grin. She smelled his strong sour breath on her face. "You’re wondering what’s going on in there? Hell, I can show you, come here.’’
"Please, let me go! Stay away from me!’’ Francisca struggled, but to no avail.
"This won’t take long,’’ Matthews said in a slurred, drunken voice. He dragged her farther back behind the wood pile, fumbling with his trousers while the girl continued struggling against his grip.
"Turn her loose,’’ Shaw said, he and Paco having hurried forward along the alleyway when they’d seen Matthews approaching the girl from behind.
"Yeah, who says?’’ demanded the gunman, turning toward them with the girl held tightly against his chest.
But before he got a good look at the two, Shaw’s fist shot out and flattened his nose against his face.
The drunken gunman flew backward, releasing his grip on the girl. He grabbed his gun, but before he could draw it, Paco stepped forward and clamped a boot down onto his wrist. "Shame on you, Jake,’’ he said. "You better hope Quinn Madsen doesn’t hear about this.’’ He took his boot off the man’s wrist slowly, allowing him to remove his hand from his gun and loosen a bandanna from around his neck.
"Damn it, I know it.’’ The gunman hacked and gurgled, cupping his bleeding nose into his wadded-up bandanna. "I’m just drunk. . . . Can’t you see that? You don’t have to tell Madsen about it.’’ He turned his eyes up to Shaw. "And you didn’t have to break my nose, Fast Larry!’’
"Next time I’ll kill you,’’ Shaw said flatly, holding the girl, who instead of running away, had thrown her arms around his waist for protection. "Get out of our sight,’’ Shaw added, letting the girl hide her face against him.
Seeing Shaw’s hand poised near his gun butt, Matthews raised his gun hand in submission. "Okay, okay, I’m gone.’’ Without another word he eased away a few cautious steps, then turned and hurried away, cursing under his breath.
"Are you all right?’’ Shaw asked.
Instead of answering she nodded her head and clung to him, her thin arms wrapped tightly around his waist. Shaw gave Paco a look. Then he reached down and gently but firmly pulled her arms from around him. "Young lady, I was just on my way to your house, to thank you for saving my life.’’
"You cannot go there,’’ the girl said, "nor can I.’’ She gave a look of loathing and shame toward the adobe. "Not while he is there. Not until the devil is finished with what he does to her.’’
Shaw glanced toward the adobe, then looked at Paco. The Mexican only gave him a shrug of helplessness.
"Take my mother and me away with you, Senor Angel, please,’’ the girl pleaded. "I beg of you.’’
"I’m afraid I can’t do that, child,’’ Shaw said, patting the top of her head gently as she clung to him.
"Then kill him for us,’’ the girl sobbed. "Please kill him for us. It is what I have prayed for you to do. . . . My mother and I both have prayed for you to come here and kill him for us. This is why you are here! To kill this devil!’’
"Careful what you say, little girl,’’ Paco warned her, letting his words also serve as a reminder to Shaw that he rode for Madsen.
Shaw understood. He stared down into her tearful dark eyes, beginning to get a glimpse of what was going on in her mind. "No,’’ he said with gravity, "killing Madsen for you is not why I’m here. You have this all wrong. I’m no angel. I’m not the answer to anybody’s prayers. I rode here to gather supplies and water my horse. Anything else that’s happened was just coincidence. Do you understand me?’’
The child only stared up at him.
No, she did not understand, Paco thought, watching in silence, seeing something at work here, something that he knew instinctively could bring trouble for him if he wasn’t careful. There were dark places in his new friend Shaw, places filled with pain and regret. He wasn’t sure if Shaw was a troubled man searching for some spark of goodness left in this stark desert world, something to make him want to continue living. Or, he wondered, seeing the child look up at Shaw with eyes full of hope, was the Fastest Gun Alive only searching for something worth dying for?
Shaw looked to Paco for help, a way to make the girl understand and give up any foolish notions she had of him. But Paco only shrugged and shook his head.
After a moment of silence, Shaw peeled the girl’s arms from around him and asked, "What is your name, young lady?’’
"Francisca,’’ she replied quietly.
"Well, Francisca,’’ Shaw said, glancing in the direction of the cantina, where music and drunken laughter spilled out onto the street, "this is not a good night for a young lady to be out on your own. Is there a place where you stay when you can’t go home?’’
"Sí,’’ Francisca said. "I have a place where I go when I cannot go home.’’ She pointed toward a weathered cross standing above the rooftops at the far end of the village.
"Well then,’’ Shaw said, "if you’ll allow me, I’d be honored to escort you to church.’’ As he spoke he took off his hat in a gesture of courtship.
"Gracias, Senor Angel,’’ the girl replied, taking his forearm.
Paco remained a step behind them as the two walked along in the grainy evening light.
Chapter 6
On their way along the dusty alleyway, Francisca looked up at him and said, "When I told my mother that I saw the angel we had been praying for, she looked out and saw you and said that you are no different than the other men who ride with Madsen and the deacon. That I should stay away from you. But I told her she was wrong.’’ She gave Shaw a soft, hopeful smile.
"I think you should listen to your mother, Francisca,’’ Shaw said. Paco walked along behind them, listening in silence.
"I told her that I saw your wings as you rode off the desert floor,’’ Francisca said without seeming to hear him try to dissuade her.
"I know what she saw,’’ Paco offered, stepping up on the other side of the girl. "In the heat and wind, your poncho looked like wings batting at your sides.’’ He gave a thin, sly grin. "To us you looked like a demon from hell.’’ Referring to the three men Shaw had killed, he added, "To Bo Phelps, Cero and Layton, you were.’’
Ignoring what Paco said about him killing the three men, Shaw said to the girl, "Hear that? Paco and the others saw me as a demon. You saw me as an angel. I expect people see what it is they want to see.’’
"I saw the angel we have all prayed for, and that is what you are,’’ she said firmly, looked straight ahead as she walked on.
Shaw stopped her, stared down at her and said, "Look at me, Francisca. How old are you?’’
"Before this summer ends I will be fourteen years old,’’ she said, turning her eyes up to him, looking at him with conviction, knowing he was out to change her mind. "My mother says it is then that I will become a woman.’’
"Then you’re old enough to know that there are no angels traipsing around out there in the desert sand,’’ Shaw said, not wanting to be harsh, but not wanting her to fool herself about him.
"That is also what my mother told me when we spoke about you,’’ Francisca replied.
"Your mother told you right,’’ Shaw said.
"Then what they have taught me is not true?’’ She gestured toward the weathered cross standing atop the small church.
Shaw felt pressured for a way to answer. "It’s not that it isn’t true, it’s just that . . . it’s not the way things are. It’s the way we might like for things to be.’’
"If it is not the way things are, that is the same as it not being true.’’ She stared at him.
He looked again to Paco for help. Again Paco only looked away.
"I’m sorry, Francisca,’’ Shaw said, gesturing her forward toward the church. "These are questions that I can’t answer for you.’’