Ralph Compton - Down on Gila River

By the time Santos rejoined the others, the cabin blazed and smoke rose like a column of black marble against the star-scattered sky, a gloomy funeral pyre for Ma Capps and her vile brood.

Santos watched for a while, scarlet flames reflecting in his eyes, then said to no one in particular, “A wolfer’s den is a place of evil, but the fire will purify this unholy ground.”

Sam said, “Santos, when you get angry at folks, you sure don’t get mad and then get over it, do you?”

“Then don’t let me get mad at you,” the breed said.

“That,” Sam said, “is not my intention.”

Santos stepped beside Hannah. He held out the derringer. “Is this yours?”

“No. It belongs to Lorelei.”

“You take it. You may need it before long. Get close and shoot low.”

Hannah slipped the gun into her pocket of her dress. “Thank you,” she said.

Santos shrugged. “It is a thing of little account. No need for thanks.”

He turned and walked to a saddled mount. “You do not like the horses in the Cappses’ barn, Kiowa, so you give Sam Sawyer Hannah’s mare?”

“No, I chose this one because Hannah took it from Dan Wells. I’m returning his property.”

“Wells took it from someone else.”

“As you say, Santos, but by returning it to him he may look kindly on me in the future.”

The breed smiled. “You fear me, do you not?”

“Yes. I fear all of your kind.”

“There are no skinwalkers among the Kiowa?”

“Yes, there are a few. Some are good, some evil. All are great lords.”

“You are a man who gives respect.”

“Respect is what I owe, but it is not a thing I give freely.”

“Nevertheless, one day I will remember this talk, and it will stand you in good stead.”

The Kiowa bowed his head. “You are Yee naaldlooshii . You are a man of your word.”

“But I am just a man, like you.”

“Yes, a man, but not like me.”

Santos looked at the burning cabin for a few moments, then again turned to the Kiowa.

“Guide the women and the child to Silver City,” he said. “Do not look to save the man named Sam. He is already dead.”

“He is a good man, and brave,” the Kiowa said. Then, as an afterthought: “Sometimes he is brave.”

“I have killed many good and brave men,” Santos said. “It has never troubled me.”

* * *

Lori Stewart held on to her mother’s skirt with one hand, the thumb of the other planted firmly in her mouth.

She was sorry to see Sam leave, because she liked him, even though he didn’t smell very good. She didn’t like the other man who went away with him. He didn’t smell good either, like a wet dog.

The lady who was sick was sleeping, and Lori turned her head to look at her. She was a pretty lady, not as pretty as her ma, but she had nice hair and Lori wanted hair like that. But her ma always cut her hair short because it got tangles in it.

Ma said she shouldn’t listen to the sick lady too much because she was a cusser and that was a sin, but Lori liked her because sometimes she said funny things.

Lori’s eyes moved to the Indian who was watching the cabin burn down. The Indian told her that he had a little girl and her name meant Evening Star. Lori would have liked a name like that, but one day when she was a big girl, Ma said, she could have a pony and she planned to name her Evening Star.

She wondered if the Indian would mind using his daughter’s name for a pony. She didn’t know, but he was a nice man and she was sure he wouldn’t mind at all.

Ma said all the bad people who had lived in the cabin had died and gone to heaven and Lori was happy that they’d gone because they’d scared her, especially the fat lady who looked like a man and had a big, loud voice.

Now Ma was moving and she held tighter to her skirt and went with her.

* * *

“Does he have a chance, any chance at all?” Hannah said.

The Kiowa shook his head. “None. If Sammy tries to escape, Santos will hunt him as a wolf and then kill him as a man.”

An errant breeze drifted smoke from the burning cabin, and Hannah caught a lungful and coughed.

The Indian, as silent and patient as a bronze statue, waited for the woman to speak again.

“We must do something, James,” Hannah said finally.

“We can go to Silver City and tell the law,” the Kiowa said. “They will send out a posse, maybe so.”

“But Sam Sawyer will be dead by then.”

“Santos says he’s already dead.”

Hannah considered that and her eyes searched the Indian’s face, as though she expected to find inspiration there. It was like gazing into an empty rock quarry.

She made up her own mind.

“I’m going after him,” she said. “I won’t let anything happen to Sam if I can prevent it.”

The Kiowa came at that from an angle. “You love him?”

“I don’t know.” The cabin fire bathed the right side of Hannah’s face in crimson light. “I’m not free to love anyone. My husband is still alive.” She added, “Wherever he is.”

“But you love your child? Of that you are sure?”

“Yes, of course I do.”

“Then your place is here with her.” James sighed, like a man staring into a future that made him afraid. “I will go in your place.”

“Yeah, like one skinny Injun is gonna free the old coot from Skate Santos, then take on the Wells brothers and Vic Moseley.”

Lorelei stood in the firelight and cast a slim shadow.

“Schoolma’am,” she said, “for the life of me I don’t know why, but if your heart’s set on saving Sam’s hide, we’ll all go.”

“You can’t go anywhere for a few days,” Hannah said. “You’re sick and you must rest.”

“Hell no. I’d rather die standing up than on my back.”

Lorelei moved closer to the other woman. “You were talking about your husband being alive,” she said. “I thought you knew.”

“Knew what?” Hannah said, on a rising note of alarm.

“Schoolma’am, he’s—” She glanced at the child and spelled it out. “D-e-a-d.”

“But . . . but . . . when . . . how . . .”

“Vic Moseley said he told you.”

“He told me nothing. What happened to Tom?”

“As Sheriff Moseley tells it, he found two bodies in the foothills of the Mule Mountains. He said Apaches had done for them, and that he buried what was left of the remains where they lay.”

“He said he found two bodies?”

“Yeah, one was your husband, the other a girl by the name of Sally Burrows.”

It took a while for that to sink into Hannah’s consciousness. Then she said, “Why didn’t Vic Moseley tell me?”

“Maybe he was trying to spare your feelings.”

“Or . . .”

“Yeah, or maybe it wasn’t Apaches that done the killings but good ol’ Vic hisself. He wanted your husband out of the way and finally saw his chance and took it.”

“So he could marry me?”

Lorelei’s laugh was scornful.

“I don’t understand you,” Hannah said.

“Of course you don’t understand me. Moseley didn’t want to marry you. So long as you thought your husband was alive, Vic could do what he wanted without the complication of a wedding ring.”

For a while Hannah looked stunned, unbelieving.

But what Hannah uttered next surprised even the hard-bitten Lorelei.

“I’m going to kill Moseley,” she said. “Even if it takes me the rest of my life.”

Chapter 33

The afternoon was hot and dust lay heavy on the trail as Sam Sawyer and Santos rode toward the peaks of the Pinos Altos Range. Beyond, the Mogollons rose purple against the sky, like the backbone of a gigantic hunchback.

The breed was not a talking man, and the morning had passed in silence. Sam, much given to pleasant conversation, decided it was high time to be sociable.