Ralph Compton - Down on Gila River

* * *

After an hour of steady work, Hannah stepped to the door again and looked outside. The storm still raged. The rain that lashed in torrents across the ledge in front of the dugouts had already turned the dirt to mud. Here and there amid the downpour, puddles had formed, erupting all over in jolting Vs of water.

No one would dare venture outside, and Hannah returned to her task.

It took another hour of steady work before she managed to hone a passable point on the fork handle.

She held the fork up to watery light slanting through the door and studied its sharpness. Hannah made a face. It wasn’t great, but it would have to do.

Stepping to the door again, she rammed the sharpened fork into the timber with all the strength she could muster. This time the point sank about an eighth of an inch into the wood, and Hannah felt a little thrill of triumph.

She pushed on the fork and then tried to start the bolt sliding back. It moved just a fraction. But it was a start.

Another try and it moved again.

A full hour passed before Hannah worked the bolt back enough that it slid out of the iron bracket and the door swung open on creaking hinges. Her fingers ached and the tines of the fork had dug into her right palm, raising painful welts. But now she was free to find her child and leave this terrible place.

Hannah slipped the fork into the pocket of her dress as a weapon, hiked up her skirts, and ran into the raking rain.

* * *

The door to the adobe was closed against the weather, but Hannah didn’t hesitate. Strands of wet hair falling over her face, she slammed the door open and rushed inside, the sharpened fork in her right hand.

The three women were startled. They’d been sitting on a cot, apparently deep in conversation, and now they jumped to their feet.

Hannah waved her makeshift weapon. “Where is my daughter?” she said. “Where is Lori?”

Lorelei was the first to recover from Hannah’s dramatic entrance. “Put the sticker down, schoolma’am, and we’ll talk,” she said.

Hannah looked around her. “For Pete’s sake, where is she?”

“The kid’s safe,” Lorelei said.

“Where is she?”

“In the saloon, with Matt Laurie, the bartender,” Lorelei said. “Moseley told him to keep an eye on her.”

Hannah immediately turned to leave, but the other woman’s voice stopped her.

“Wait!” she said. “Laurie is as mean as a snake and he’s got himself an L. C. Smith scattergun that’s both wife and child to him. He’ll kill a woman just as fast as he will a man.”

“He’s done it before,” said another woman, a small blonde with dark shadows under her eyes. She said to Lorelei, “Remember Mary Sullivan?”

Lorelei didn’t answer, her eyes reading Hannah’s face. “No matter what, you’re going into the saloon to get your daughter back, ain’t you?”

“Yes,” Hannah said, an angry mama cougar in search of her cub. “And I’m doing it right now.”

“Then I’m coming with you,” Lorelei said.

“Please, you don’t have to risk—”

“I’m coming with you,” Lorelei said. “For once in my life, let me try and do something decent.”

“Lorelei, if you cross him, Matt Laurie will kill you fer sure,” the blonde said, alarmed. “You know how he is. He’s crazy.”

Lorelei took a Remington derringer from the drawstring purse she kept under her bed.

“He’ll kill me if I don’t kill him first,” she said. “And yes, I remember Mary Sullivan. How could I forget her? She was my sister.”

Chapter 20

The two women stepped out of the adobe into teeming rain. The thunderstorm lingered. Lightning slashed across the iron gray sky, and thunder growled and roared like a bee-stung bear.

Their high-button boots splashing through water and mud, Hannah and Lorelei ran for the saloon.

Lorelei stopped at the door and said, “Are you ready?”

Hannah didn’t trust her voice not to shake and she settled for a quick nod.

“No matter what I say, you go along with it, understand?” Lorelei said.

She looked for a reply in Hannah’s pale face, and repeated, “Do you understand?”

Hannah nodded, and Lorelei said, “Then let’s do it, schoolma’am.”

Lorelei opened the door and Hannah followed her inside.

Matt Laurie was quick and he wasn’t a trusting man. He reached behind the bar and laid his shotgun on the counter.

“What the hell are you doing here, Lorelei?” he said. His eyes moved to Hannah. “Who let you out?”

“I did,” Lorelei said. She smiled, moving a wisp of damp hair off her forehead. “We both felt the need for company, Matt.”

Laurie was suspicious. It was obvious by the stiff way he held himself and the closeness of his hand to the shotgun. But a woman can cloud a man’s thinking.

“What kind of company do you have in mind, Lorelei?” he said. He brushed his mustache with his forefinger, and his black eyes glittered.

“Where’s my daughter?” Hannah demanded.

The bartender jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Back there in the storeroom. Nothing to harm her but whiskey barrels and maybe rats.”

“I’m going to her,” Hannah said. She crossed the floor, her heels thudding on the saloon’s stone floor.

Laurie’s shotgun came up. “Sheriff Moseley says nobody sees the brat until he gets back, so stay right where you’re at. I got all kinds of faith in this here scattergun.”

Moving quickly, Lorelei crossed the floor, getting between Hannah and the shotgun. “Don’t mind the schoolma’am, Matt,” she said.

“I don’t want no trouble with her, Lorelei,” Laurie said. “I don’t want no trouble with Dan Wells either.”

“There will be no trouble, Matt,” Lorelei said. “Hannah’s just upset about her kid. She’ll get over it.”

“Sheriff Moseley says she can see the kid when he gets back,” the bartender said. “That’s what he told me, and I do as he says.”

Lorelei glared at Hannah, her eyes telegraphing her concern.

“Well, that’s just fine, isn’t it?” she said. “You can wait until Vic gets back, can’t you, schoolma’am, you being his picked woman an’ all?”

“Hell, Lorelei, I don’t want no trouble with Vic Moseley either,” Laurie said.

“Tell you what, Matt,” Lorelei said. “Why don’t you come over here and give me a kiss?”

Laurie’s eyes went to the dugout’s only glazed window, and for a few moments he watched the rain stream down the panes. “Well . . . ,” he said.

“A big, strong man like you,” Lorelei said, with a dove’s professional sincerity.

Laurie grinned. His teeth were few in number, and those that remained were black. “Then let’s get her done,” he said, talking through saliva.

“Then come out from behind the counter, you big lug,” Lorelei said, smiling.

Made careless by desire, Laurie left the counter . . . and walked belly-first into a .41-caliber bullet.

The man’s face was stricken as he staggered back.

“Lorelei, you gut-shot me,” he said, his eyes shocked, unbelieving.

“So I did,” the woman said, smoke trickling from the little gun in her hand.

Lorelei’s face showed no emotion, and watching her, Hannah felt a shiver. How could a woman kill that way? So coldly, as though she had no soul?

It seemed that Matt Laurie was just as dumbstruck. The hand he held to his belly seeped blood through his fingers, and his face was ashen.

“Why?” he said. “Why did you do that?”

“I always planned on killing you, Matt,” Lorelei said as she loaded another bullet in her gun. “Right now seemed as good a time as any.”

Bent over his wound, Laurie backed toward the bar.

“I never did nothing to you, Lorelei.”