Beyond the Broken Road, page 33
"I told you not to name that calf," Sam said. "Cows aren't pets."
"I know, but how can I give her a bottle when I can't talk to her?"
"Just don't forget she's going to grow horns a foot long. When she swipes her head sideways and says howdy, you'll know you've been greeted."
'You have a point."
"So does she."
"Your jokes are terrible." She shoved the last item she could fit into the saddlebag. "I think I need a bigger bag."
"You can buy what you need there."
She looked up. "I don’t know if I’ll feel like shopping.” What if she ran into someone who knew her? It seemed that keeping a low profile in Tombstone would be essential. She wondered again why Sam even offered to let her come.
“You’ll have to. You need other clothes.”
“Why? What is really going on?”
He frowned, and she knew with certainty that he was hiding something. She plopped down on the bed and stared up at him. "Well."
He walked to the window. “I didn’t tell you before, but after Tubac, I dug up that shipment of your daddy’s. We’ll be taking it with us to Tombstone. We'll find a way to get it back from there."
Her first thought was pleasure. Then she felt something cold clutch her heart. "Isn't that dangerous?" She remembered what he'd told her about those mail pouches--that with the marshal already believing he was the robber if he was found with them, there would be no way to prove it wasn't so.
"It's the only way." Absently he squatted to pet Rahab who had followed him and was rubbing around his legs. "If we don't return it, there'll always be somebody coming after us. We go to Tombstone, ship the mail back. I put it in sacks. Nobody will know what it is ‘til they open it in Tucson. If you make a trip home from Tombstone, everything is cleared up."
"A trip home? Why would I do that?”
“You said you wanted to.”
“Well, yes but… sometime. Not now.”
“Until you go back, the reward posters will be plastered around maybe with increasing numbers on them. There is no way to get this straightened out short of that."
“But this all sounds dangerous for you.”
"For a while."
"What if someone recognizes me from the poster too soon?”
"It's a risk we have to take, but you don't look much like that picture anymore, and it's been out for long enough, probably not many looking at it anymore."
“I don’t look like it?” She smiled, pleased by the thought. She had never much liked how she looked.
“No.”
“What do I look like now?” She liked having Sam tell her that she was beautiful. She wasn’t sure she believed him, but the words always left her warm and glowing. And the expression in his eyes made her body turn to a flame, ready to yield up all her warmth.
"Hair loose like that, flowing all around you. Lips full and lush, those eyes that say everything without a word.” He grinned. “Nope, unless a man knew, he wouldn't recognize you.” Her hope the words would lead to something else were dashed when he stood to look out the window. “Besides, you can't stay in hiding forever."
"I could send my father a telegraph, explaining everything is all right. Maybe that would take care of it."
"How would he know you hadn’t been forced to send it?"
She stared at him, trying to read beneath the mask. There was more to this trip than he was telling her. She would not get it from him now. She moved across the room, putting her arms around him, beginning to unbutton his shirt. She felt his reaction to her touch and smiled as she centered her interest where she most wanted it.
Riding horseback through the Huachuca Mountains was pleasurable for Abby. Although the country was dry and barren, especially as they climbed into the mountains, it had a quiet, pleasing beauty. Scrub oak dotted the hills, and the canyons were dry and dusty where streams ran once or twice a year, when at all. Twice they came upon bands of coatimundi as they scurried for cover, surprised at having been interrupted on their foraging. "With those long tails, they are so cute," Abby said.
"No more pets," Sam said as he rode alongside her. "Those cute little critters bite something fierce."
'You are not going to tell me you've been bitten by one," she said with disbelief. She could see their long snouts would allow for vicious teeth, but she couldn't imagine being attacked by something so teddy-bear like.
Sam shook his head. "Heard about it though. Woman took one as a pet, had her nose bit clean off."
"You are kidding?" she said horrified, then looked over and saw that wicked grin that turned her stomach inside out. “That’s not funny.”
“You sure?”
She giggled.
They came to the bluff above the San Pedro River at near dark, the shadows lengthening as the sun reached for the horizon. "We'll camp here," Sam directed. Abby was relatively sure that if he'd been riding with only his men, he'd have ridden on without stopping.
"I can keep going," she said.
"You could. No reason to get you saddle sore. We've got time."
As the sun headed toward the horizon and the sky began to turn mauve, Sam found a protected campsite with a sufficient view of the surrounding country and cottonwoods to shelter them. It was far enough from the banks of the river that even if a thunderstorm were to hit the distant mountains and send the shallow river into flood, they would be safe.
If Abby had fostered any hopes that she and Sam would have time alone there, time to talk, time to work out whatever was troubling him, he dashed the hopes when he said the men would have to take turns watching. When she looked at him skeptically, he said this was outlaw country. The battles between the lawless elements and the law-abiding had been fought in Tombstone and were still being fought in the surrounding territory with various outlaw settlements like Charleston continuing to supply men for robbing, killing and general deviltry. Add to it Geronimo was rumored again to be in the hills somewhere, and it was nowhere to take for granted.
Watching the ranch house through binoculars, Monk smiled with satisfaction. He climbed down from the promontory. "Looks good, Drago."
"How many?"
"All I seen is two. If there’s more, they’re in the house but not moving around."
"So where did the others go?" Drago mused. Something about this didn’t seem right.
He turned to Russell. "Thought you said there'd be six or seven men there, not counting the woman."
"Maybe they left. I don’t know. Can’t read their minds from here."
Drago smirked. He could read the big man’s unease. "Tell me again about the trouble you and Ryker had?"
“Does it matter?”
“Yeah, tell me.”
"We had a fight."
"That was all?"
“I hate him. Want to see him get knocked down a peg or two. That's all."
Drago sneered. He knew a lie when he heard it. "You're scared of him," he said and read it on the big man’s face. "I want the truth about what happened. All of it. I don't ride with men I can't trust."
Russell let out a gusty breath. "All right... I’ll leave. No need for money for bringing you here.”
“Try again.”
“All right. All right, I took a shot at him."
"You got off a shot at a man you say is so fast you’re scared to face him." Drago smiled and pulled out his own gun, pointing it at the hapless man. "How’d that come to pass?"
"I brought you to the ranch. Why would you pull a gun on me now?" He made a failed attempt at innocent confusion.
Drago cocked his pistol but said nothing more, just waited. A coward would always yield, would end up giving whatever it took to keep him alive. Patience was all it would take to get those things from this man.
"All right, I shot at him after a disagreement. I... I did it without thinking.” His voice dwindled off as he saw the expression in Drago’s eyes.
Drago laughed. "You took a shot at his back."
Russell nodded, staring at the ground.
"I don't ride with back shooters," Drago said.
"What do you mean?"
"I’ll give you a chance."
Russell pulled on the reins to turn his horse.
"Russell."
He waited. “What?" he asked.
"I don't ride with 'em. I don't trust 'em to ride behind me."
“What does that mean?”
Drago had holstered his pistol. “It means get your gun out or die trying.”
Russell tried, but two bullets hit him so quickly together they were as one. Russell fell hard form his horse.
Drago dismounted and walked over to him. "Any last words?"
"Boots off," Buck begged, choking on blood. "Don't want to die with my boots on."
Drago laughed and fired again, directly into his head. "Too late for that."
"What now?” Monk asked as though nothing had occurred.
"We'll wait a bit, then go on down and see who's at the house.” He reloaded his gun. “If it isn't Ryker, we'll find out where he and the woman are.”
They rode slowly into the ranch yard, not wanting to concern the men who'd come out onto the bunkhouse porch. "Mind if we water our horses?" Drago asked with a smile.
A man with a crutch nodded his head toward the trough. "Help yourselves. You ridden a long way?"
"Far piece. Is this ranch hiring?"
“You don’t look much like cowboys,” a second man said as he stood to one side of the door, a rifle in the cradle of his arms.
“Man does what he needs to do. Boss around?”
“Not here.”
Drago let Monk take the horses to the watering trough. "Where’d you say your boss was?"
"We didn't," the crippled man said. He kept his hand close to the gun on his hip.
Drago stroked his mustache, familiar with men like these. They wouldn't be easily taken off guard, but then nothing was impossible. Although if required he could track the horses, it would be more amusing to get what he wanted from these two.
"You got any grub to spare?" Monk asked, walking up onto the covered porch where the two men stood, placing himself now to their far side, making it difficult to watch them both simultaneously.
"We can give you a little."
"We ain't been real friendly," Drago said. "I'm Drago Sinclair. This is Monk Jones. What'd you boys say your names were?"
The one man looked at the other, then the cripple said, "I'm Rock. This is Joe."
"You got any coffee?" Drago asked knowing it was a request that could not be turned down.
Joe considered a moment before he smiled. Drago knew he didn’t trust them. Good. He liked it that way. "Sure. Strong enough to put hair on your chest, but you're welcome to a cup."
Drago and Monk walked ahead of the two hands into the bunkhouse positioning themselves at opposite ends of the room with their hands near their guns. Monk poured the coffee. Drago felt a surge of excitement at the nearness of action. He saw Joe clench his jaw. He debated whether he would kill these two after he got what he wanted.
"No reason for us to have trouble," Drago said, smiling as he sipped his coffee. "We're just looking for work. If your boss is hiring, we need to talk to him. Tell us where he went, and we'll be gone."
"Wait around here," Rock offered, his tone sounding amiable enough to anyone who didn’t read men as well as Drago did. "They'll be back in a few days."
"That right?" Faster than the two hands could react, his coffee cup was gone replaced by his six-gun, which was now pointed at Rock's chest. "You know, Joe, if you put that rifle down and step away from it, I'd consider it right friendly."
Joe moved away from the rifle, holding his hands out from his sides. "What's the matter?" he asked. "Thought you just wanted a cup of java."
Drago laughed, the sound piercing in the small room. Monk, who had now drawn his own gun, chuckled too.
"I'll tell you what I want," Drago said, “then you give me the answers. If it all goes well, you two might just survive 'til tomorrow morning."
"We've got nothing to hide," Rock said.
"We'll see about that. Now, no fooling around. Where did Ryker head?"
When neither Joe nor Rock said anything, Drago said, "See if you can convince the cripple."
Monk walked to Rock and kicked away his crutch. Rock grunted, tried to move away, but Monk was fast and landed a solid kick at the leg. Rock collapsed groaning to the floor.
"Now, Joe," Drago said, coming to stand in front of him, using the barrel of his gun to force Joe's chin up. "I can trail the horses that rode out of here. It'll take me longer, put me in a bad mood, but it won't stop me. The thing is, you can save me some time. You can save your friend some pain, maybe you too. Monk there.” He gestured toward the smaller man, "He likes hurting people even more than I do. Show him your knife, Monk." The knife appeared almost instantly. "He's good with it too, Carve your friend up and keep him alive a long time. Think that'd do your boss any good?"
Drago could see Joe thinking through his options. He could almost read the man's mind as he decided he had no choice, but he would ride ahead to warn his boss. He smiled as Joe said, "All right, he's going to Tombstone."
"Why?"
"He’s looking for hands."
Drago grinned. "I was told there’s a woman here. Where’s she?"
When Joe didn't respond, Drago drove his fist into his belly, knocking the air from his lungs and doubling him with pain. When he could again straighten, he looked into Drago's eyes. Drago knew how close Joe was to death and wondered idly if he also knew.
"It’s his wife," he managed, gulping for air.
"What’s her name?
“Abby.”
“What’s she look like?”
“Beautiful. Dark hair. Hell, I don’t know. Good figure.”
"Where'd she come from?" Drago asked.
Joe grimaced. “How would I know? He courted her, brought her here. If you knew my boss, you'd know a man don't ask questions when he brings home a woman—not if he says she’s his wife." Joe managed to sit up but didn’t attempt to stand.
"All right,” Drago said. “I appreciate you boys being loyal to your boss and all. I respect that, but I can't have you following us." Smiling, he stepped back, lowered the barrel of his gun and shot Joe in the right leg. "I figure two men with bad legs won't be riding anywhere. I don’t kill men unless I have to… unless they’re the kind the world’s better off without."
Joe groaned as Drago again took hold if his chin and lifted it. "You're a lucky man," he said. "You'll heal from this, but you try to follow us to Tombstone, a tombstone is all you’ll find."
Drago turned to Monk. "Take what supplies you can find. We'll drive off the horses, just in case either of these two get the idea they can ride after all."
Drago knelt then beside Joe. "There's a man up in the hills." He pointed off to the west. "Vultures going to start circling in a day or so. If you’re of a mind, you might see if you can get up there, bury whatever's left." He grinned and left Joe writhing on the floor. Just the way he liked it.
At first light, Abby munched on a dried biscuit as she watched Sam and the men saddle the horses. When they started out, Sam rode beside her.
"Have you been to Tombstone often?" she asked after a long silence.
"When needed." He pulled out his Colt, checked its load, and then dropped it in its holster.
“Why’d you do that?”
“Habit.”
“You need a gun in a town where there’s a sheriff?”
“Especially then,” he said with a grin. “If there’s a no-carry law, I take it off, keep it in a bag nearby, and don’t stay long.”
"What is this town like?" she asked more for wanting to get him to talk than a genuine interest in Tombstone. He was withdrawing from her. There was a glint in his eyes she didn't like.
"A silver camp, grown into a mining town. Maybe ten thousand living there right now. Rocky, barren place with no reason for being other than silver, and when it's gone that'll be it."
“Is it dangerous?”
“Not more than others.”
“I heard there is a kind of sophisticated district.”
He laughed. “I wouldn’t know. I go for supplies. In and out as fast as I can.”
"I'm going to look pretty strange there." She glanced down at her worn riding skirt, the boy's shirt and over-sized jacket she was wearing.
"Not in my end of town.”
"Was that supposed to make me feel better?"
"We'll buy you new clothes right after we get the horses stabled."
"I'd like that. A real dress and clean underwear. What a luxury." She smiled at him, wishing he'd answered her smile with a real one of his own.
As they neared Tombstone, Sam told her he needed to ride the restlessness out of Satan before he stabled him. He said he would be back before they entered town and with that, he was gone in a cloud of dust. Abby's apprehensions grew as she watched him ride that big stallion out across the ridge. She wondered who needed that wild ride, the horse or him. Any hole and they'd go down, but none of those fears could've been in Sam's head as he let the stallion have his head.
Not having been in any town for some time, she would generally have looked forward to the shopping and restaurants. Instead, she could only feel fear for the man she had married.
Ollie brought his horse alongside hers. "You want company?"
"You are a friend to know it."
"You doing all right?"
"Not so much.” Riding over a ridge, below her she could see the town laid out. To her left was a cemetery. She felt a shiver go down her spine at the sight of the lonely, rock-heaped graves and plain markers. The setting was barren and rocky, removed from the life of the town below. Such a forlorn place for a life to end. Dust to dust.
Ollie looked over at her. "Now don't go looking that way," he admonished. "it's just Boot Hill."
"They call it that?"
Ollie chuckled. "Not hardly. More likely they call it Tombstone Cemetery, but boot hill's what it is. Lawless towns like Tombstone, men don't tend to live long enough to die with their boots off."
