Falconer's Law

by Jason Manning

  We said our good-byes quickly, for the parting was a painful experience for both of us. I then bade farewell to Hugh Falconer. He gave me the pouch containing the rest of the gold pieces, and I was prepared to hand over the Appaloosa mare right then and there and take one of my packhorses into Monterey. But he told me to ride the mare, as she was clearly good luck for me, and said he would get the horse from Padre Pico after I had sailed on the Halcyon. I asked him to make sure my brother got all my things—the two packhorses and all that they carried. I had considered giving everything to Rube Holly, but Rube had told me to give it to Silas instead. I did not tell anyone else, not even Silas, that I was leaving the brigade for good, and before the sun had risen on a new day I had slipped away from the camp.

  My heart was heavy. Among men who have engaged in such adventure and survived such an ordeal as we had done these past months, a bond is forged. Leaving the brigade was even more difficult for me than saying good-bye to my home and family back in Ohio had been. There were things I wanted to say to Falconer in particular, but could not find the words. Perhaps one day he will read this journal and know that I am grateful to him for instilling in me an awareness of my strengths and promise as a man. I am beholden to him for giving me the opportunity to prove to myself that I am capable of taking charge of my own destiny. Without this newfound confidence in myself I could not have embarked on such an enterprise as this. That confidence, I think, is what I came west to find, and, thanks to Hugh Falconer, I have found it.

  I asked around town for directions to the Chagres house. The residence was a large, two-story dwelling surrounded by a high wall, perched on a slope overlooking Monterey. There were several other houses on the street, spaced well apart, with stands of pine trees between them. But I could find no good place on the street for engaging in what might become a very long vigil, so I rode to the end of the street and turned the Appaloosa up the hill to its crest, circling back to a point directly above and behind the Chagres house.

  Leaving the mare on the backside of the hill, I found a place where I could see all of the house through the trees. Not knowing what else to do for the moment, I settled down to watch and wait.

  A few hours later I saw Consuela, the serving woman, walking down the road from the house with a basket swinging on her arm. I did not follow her, for fear that Sombra might leave the house while I was away from my post. An hour later Consuela returned, the basket filled with food. I deduced that she had visited the market at the bottom of the hill.

  Later that day several vaqueros left the house, riding down into Monterey. Still I saw no sign of Sombra. The sun sank below the horizon, and still I waited, with faltering hope, until quite late into the night, before going over the hill, unsaddling the mare, and rolling up in my blankets, to try and get some sleep.

  A heavy fog, cold and damp, had rolled in from the sea by sunrise, but it was of short duration. Again I saw Consuela leave the house. This time I went after her, on foot, and waited until she had reached the market before approaching her. She seemed genuinely pleased to see me, and she gave me every assurance that Sombra was holding up well and wondering when we would be together again. I told Consuela that preparations had been made, but confessed to being at a loss as to how I could spirit Sombra away if she never left the house. Consuela said that since tomorrow was Sunday, they would be attending an evening mass. Don Carlos would not go—he never did—but Consuela surmised that the patrón would send either Gaviota or Remo, his two most trusted men, to accompany his daughter. I asked Consuela to tell Sombra to be ready to go with me then, as we might not have another opportunity. I had no idea what I was going to do, but I tried to maintain an air of confidence.

  Returning to my lonely camp on the backside of the hill, I built a small fire and brewed some coffee to go with the strip of dried venison that was the sum total of my supper. I had a poor appetite but forced myself to eat nonetheless. Wracking my brain for some scheme that would have at least a modest chance of success to recommend it, I could come up with nothing besides a headache. How was I to get Sombra away under the watchful eye of Remo or Don Carlos's mute bodyguard? I could think of noway, short of killing whichever one of them Don Carlos assigned to protect her on the morrow. That was a last resort, if for no other reason than I thought it more likely I would be the one who was killed.

  I found myself wishing Hugh Falconer were here—now there was a man who always seemed to know the right thing to do no matter what happened. No problem was a Gordian knot for him. But Falconer had already done more than enough to help me. I could not ask him to do more. Besides, I had a feeling he would have been disappointed in me if I failed to deal with this situation myself.

  Recalling that Padre Pico had offered his services, I decided to ride to the Carmel Mission and consult with him. He greeted me like the prodigal son, insisting that I stay and eat with him. While we ate I told him my problem. "I am afraid," I said, in conclusion, "that this will be my one and only chance to take her away."

  "We can do nothing in the church, during the mass," he said.

  I said of course not, which left making a move while they were traveling from the house to the church, or vice versa. Padre Pico tugged vigorously on an earlobe as he pondered the situation. Then a light seemed to blaze in his eyes, and he smiled at me.

  "We can do this thing," he said, with complete confidence. "I will help you."

  "But how?"

  He put a hand on my arm. "You must trust me. There is a way. But I warn you, it is not without risk."

  I laughed at that. "Then it wouldn't be worth doing, would it?" I was so pleased that Padre Pico had devised some scheme to rescue Sombra that danger was of little consequence to me. "But I do not want to place you in harm's way, Father."

  "My duty is to thwart Satan and all his works. And I am persuaded that Don Carlos is the devil's accomplice. Meet me outside the church during the mass. We will strike as they are returning home."

  Trusting in him, I nodded and took my leave, declining his invitation to stay the night at the mission. I preferred the cold ground on the hill behind the Chagres house, if only because I would be closer to Sombra.

  On the road back to Monterey I had the distinct impression that I was being followed. Circling back, I saw no one. Putting it down to an overactive imagination, I rode on.

  Today seemed to last a lifetime. Finally, as the sun slipped down the western slope of the sky, I saw Sombra emerge from the house and climb into the coach that had conveyed her and her father here from Hacienda Gavilan. Consuela was with her. Gaviota rode on top of the coach. As the team of matched grays, under his expert guidance, pulled the coach out of the gate, I was relieved to see that no vaqueros were accompanying them.

  I had changed into the clothes I had been given at the hacienda, hoping this would allow me to blend in to the environment of the town better than the buckskins. The Appaloosa was saddled and ready. I rode down through the pines to the road and followed the coach at a safe distance.

  Chapter 26

  Eben Nall was standing at the mouth of an alley that ran behind the church when he saw Padre Pico. The shadows of night were fast gathering. The priest quartered across the plaza toward the church, moving as quickly as his short legs would allow. Eben left the alley and walked up the street that flanked the south side of the iglesia. Pico saw him, waved, and hurried forward.

  "Sombra is inside," said Eben. "Along with Consuela. She works for Don Carlos, but she's on Sombra's side in this. Last time I looked, Gaviota was standing on the front steps of the church. He's Don Carlos's bodyguard."

  "I know who he is. He is still there." There was a plain brown robe draped over Padre Pico's arm. This he offered to Eben. "Here. Put this on."

  "This is a priest's robe, Father."

  "Of course it is."

  "I don't think I ought to be wearing a . . ."

  Padre Pico waved his doubts aside. "Does this man Gaviota know you?"

  "Yes, he would reco
gnize me."

  "Then you must wear the robe. Do not worry. Under the circumstances I don't think God will be offended."

  Eben stepped back into the alley and donned the robe, putting it on over his other clothes and pulling the cowl over his head. He frowned at his booted feet. "I don't guess you brought any sandals along, did you, Father?"

  "No. But it will soon be dark. Perhaps he will not notice."

  "What do you have in mind?"

  Padre Pico glanced at the Appaloosa mare, standing alertly, ground-hitched, in the alley behind Eben.

  "Where is the Chagres coach?"

  "On the other side of the street, a little further down." Eben took him to the mouth of the alley and pointed it out to him.

  "Muy bien." Padre Pico rubbed his hands together. Excitement was a gleam in his eye. He seemed to relish the adventure. Eben thought it might be wise to remind him who they were dealing with.

  "Father, you say you know who Gaviota is. He's a killer. Not a man to be trifled with."

  "Then tell me, my son, how were you going to get Sombra Chagres away from him?"

  Eben grimaced. "I guess I was going to try to kill him."

  Padre Pico sternly wagged a finger. "There must be no bloodshed. Were you to take this man's life, you would be no better than he. No, there is another way."

  "I'm dying to hear it," said Eben, and pondered his careless choice of words.

  Padre Pico told him. When he was finished, Eben shrugged.

  "Might work," he allowed. "But you'll be taking an awfully big chance, Father."

  "Even such a man as Gaviota cares about his soul. He would not harm a priest."

  "Maybe not. But what about Don Carlos? He doesn't like the Church to begin with. This might make trouble not just for you but for your mission as well."

  Padre Pico put a hand on Eben's arm and smiled. "It is seldom easy to do the right thing. Life on this earth is a tribulation. The reward for doing God's work is in heaven. Do not fear. I will deal with Don Carlos Chagres when the time comes."

  "Well," said Eben, dubious, "you don't switch horses in midstream. I guess we have no choice but to go ahead."

  Thirty minutes later Sombra and Consuela emerged from the church in a stream of worshippers. Gaviota awaited them on the steps and followed them around to the street that ran along the side of the iglesia. Consuela could tell that Sombra's nerves were frayed. The servant woman took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. When they arrived at the coach, Gaviota opened the door for them. Sombra gave the darkened street an anxious glance. Then, with a sigh of resignation, she got into the coach. Consuela got in after her. Gaviota shut the door and climbed up into the box.

  "Where is he?" whispered Sombra, distraught

  "Have faith, my dear. That young man will not betray your trust."

  Gaviota stirred up the team, and the coach lurched forward. By the time it reached the end of the street the horses had fallen into a brisk, swinging gait. Gaviota worked the leathers with nimble fingers of steel to turn the coach into an intersecting street. At that moment Padre Pico appeared out of the shadows of a deeply recessed doorway at the corner—stepping directly into the path of the coach. The grays snorted and balked, startled by his sudden appearance; the offside leader tried to rear in its traces. Crying out, Padre Pico fell beneath the hooves of the horses. Gaviota climbed the reins, and the coach came to a jolting stop. Leaping from the top of the coach, Gaviota rushed to the front of the team.

  Eben stepped out of the shadows of the doorway and stole to the rear of the coach, then slipped around to the door and opened it gently.

  The look on Sombra's face when he swept back the cowl warmed his soul. He held out a hand to her.

  "Go, child!" whispered Consuela urgently.

  Sombra took his hand, spared Consuela one last, saddened glance—and then Eben had her out of the coach, and back into the shadows.

  By now Gaviota had Padre Pico on his feet.

  "I am unhurt," said the priest. "Gracias. Vaya con Dios."

  He continued on across the street with unhurried dignity.

  Gaviota watched him for a moment, before returning to the top of the coach, where he took up the leathers and whipped the team into motion again.

  "I'll be," breathed Eben. "It worked. It actually worked."

  Sombra wasn't watching the coach turn the corner out of sight. She was gazing up at him in a very disconcerting way, tightly gripping his hand in hers, as though she would never let go.

  Eben cleared his throat with some difficulty. "Come on. We had better get out of Monterey, quick."

  He looked around for Padre Pico, but the priest was gone.

  They crossed the street and turned into the alley where the Appaloosa waited. Shedding the robe, Eben had Sombra put it on, then helped her up into the saddle and mounted behind her. Filled with elation, he put his arms around her to gather the reins and with a tap of his heels prompted the mare into a walk that, once they were away from the plaza and the middle of town, turned into a canter and then, as they reached the outskirts of town, a gallop.

  Padre Pico beat them back to the Carmel Mission, and Eben wondered how on earth the priest had managed that, but he didn't ask. There were more pressing questions on his mind, chief among them the location of the seaside hideaway where he and Sombra were supposed to wait for Captain Shagrue and the Halcyon. The tireless priest took them there immediately. As it was located several miles up the coast, Padre Pico rode a white donkey. The donkey wasn't much for speed, and Eben nervously checked their back trail at least a hundred times during the trip. He figured all of Monterey knew what had happened by now.

  Padre Pico had said he knew Gaviota; did Gaviota know the priest? If so, had he been able to identify him in the street? Eben decided it really didn't matter in the long run. A priest was involved in Sombra's disappearance, and sooner or later the trail would lead Don Carlos to the Carmel Mission. Hopefully it would be later—after the Halcyon had sailed.

  Eben wondered what story Don Carlos would tell to explain his daughter's bizarre departure. Surely he would claim she had been abducted against her will. All of California would be on the lookout for her. Eben hoped this hideaway Padre Pico had arranged for them was sufficiently remote.

  He wasn't disappointed. The little cabin, nestled in a stand of cedars, stood near the base of a steep, rocky bluff. It overlooked a lonely stretch of horseshoe-shaped beach between two bluffs where the surf crashed against huge boulders. There was no other dwelling anywhere near, said Padre Pico, and the nearest road was a mile inland.

  The cabin itself consisted of only one room, with a hard-packed dirt floor and a mudstick chimney. The roof had been constructed with cedar shakes, and the walls were gray clapboard, warped and weathered. The only furnishings were a split-log table and bench and a narrow rope slat bed with a strawtick mattress rolled up at one end. Padre Pico had supplied some beans and flour and a little coffee, along with a pot and a skillet. For water the priest directed them to a creek that ran through a draw about two hundred paces to the south, near the point. Kindling was stacked high near the fireplace. Not to worry, the priest assured them, about the smoke from a fire. The constant breeze off the ocean would quickly dissipate any smoke that escaped the chimney.

  With a promise to come check on them in a day or two if possible, Padre Pico blessed them both and took his leave.

  Suddenly alone with Sombra, Eben contracted a bad case of nerves. She stood in the doorway for some time, looking out at the moonlight on the breakers, listening to the sullen roar of the surf. Finally he could stand the silence no longer.

  "You're not sorry, are you?"

  She turned, forcing a smile. "No. But I am afraid of what my father might do."

  "He'll never lay hands on you again. Not as long as I am alive."

  "That is what I am afraid of. What he will do to you if he finds us."

  "He won't"

  "You are very brave, Señor Nall."

 
"You told me to call you Sombra. I will, but only if you call me Eben." He glanced around the cabin, its interior illuminated by the flickering, mustard-yellow light of a coal oil lamp. "I apologize for the accommodations."

  Now the smile was genuine. "I do not mind at all. For the first time in years I feel . . . free."

  "Do you really want to leave California, Sombra? I know it's the only home you've ever known."

  "If I do not leave I will never truly be free. Yes, Eben, I will go where you go."

  Eben told her all about the arrangements with Captain Shagrue, watching her closely as he spoke. But the prospect of a long sea voyage did not appear to be in the least daunting to her.

  "I have no money with which to pay for my passage," she said. "I own nothing now but these clothes I am wearing."

  "You've given up a lot, Sombra."

  "I do not regret it. But how can I repay you?"

  "You don't have to. I'm . . . glad to help."

  The way she was looking at him made Eben squirm inside.

  "I'd better go unsaddle the mare and fetch some water," he mumbled and fled the cabin, bucket in hand.

  When he returned, toting his saddle and a bucket sloshing with creek water, she was starting a fire. She stated her intentions of cooking some beans and tortillas. He busied himself cleaning his Kentucky rifle and flintlock pistol. They ate the meal in silence, Eben wishing he knew how to make small talk. But he dared not even attempt to do so, knowing he would likely just make a fool of himself.

  "You look pretty worn out," he said when they were done eating. "You can sleep in the bed. I'll take the floor."

  "The floor?"

  "Shoot, I've been sleeping on the ground so long I wouldn't know what to do in a . . . well, I mean . . ." He blushed.

  "You did not sleep on the floor in the hacienda."

  Thinking back to her nocturnal visit to his bedroom at Hacienda Gavilan put even more color in Eben Nall's cheeks. He cleared his throat and proceeded to unroll his blankets—on the other side of the table from the bed. Sombra cleared the table and lay down on the mattress. Realizing she had no cover, Eben carried one of his blankets over to her. She sat up to accept the blanket and, as she did, took his hand in hers.