Alfie

by Margaret Tanner

  “I’ll get him for you. Want him saddled?

  “No, don’t bother I can come in and do it.”

  Within five minutes, the horse was saddled and she filled the saddlebags with the left over supplies from their trip.

  “What about Mr. Montague’s horse?”

  “Someone will be coming for it later.”

  Luckily he hadn’t heard about the shooting as yet.

  Alfie mounted, made sure her hair was pushed up under her hat and rode out of Bakerville, hopefully never to return. Not only was the place dangerous, but it was filled with tragic memories. She felt like a low down polecat for not attending Toby’s funeral, but was fighting for survival, and if he had lived he wouldn’t have condemned her for it. Of course, had he still been alive she wouldn’t be on the run. At least she had her rifle now.

  Get out of town and hole up somewhere, that’s what she had to do. It was the only hope. It was only after riding out of town she noticed her horse’s gait was slightly uneven. She couldn’t go back and change her mount, but would have to take it easy so he wouldn’t go completely lame.

  Chapter Six

  By mid-afternoon on the third day, the horse’s hoof didn’t seem to have worsened; she had to be careful, though. She hadn’t passed anyone and had no real idea where she was, except she was heading for a distant mountain range, figuring it would be cooler there and trees would afford her more cover. Wild life would be more abundant, allowing her to live off the land, like the trappers did. Strange, how she had resented Pa for making them live like boys, now it was the only thing that would keep her alive.

  Her supplies were in a pitiful state, down to three cans of beans, but she hadn’t dared use her rifle in case it alerted any would-be posse of her whereabouts. Hadn’t had time to set traps, so it was beans and a few strips of dried beef.

  Bone weary from lack of proper sleep, she brooded at the hand fate had dealt her. She sniffed the air. Was that smoke? Dare she risk making contact with whoever it was? Maybe see if they had any spare food. What if they were outlaws? She had to take the risk.

  Slowing the horse down to a walk she followed the smoke. Soon she smelled the fire and food. Her mouth watered, while her stomach grumbled loudly.

  Dismounting, she tethered her horse to a bush, took the rifle from its scabbard and crept toward the tantalizing smells.

  Gypsies. In a clearing with a creek close by were four gypsy wagons, once brightly colored they were now dull with age and dust. Several men, women and children sat around in a group eating what smelled like stew. She would just about kill for a mouthful.

  An arm suddenly clamped around her neck, something sharp dug into her back. “What are you doing snooping around, boy?” Where are the others?”

  Before she could answer she was frog-marched into the clearing. One of the women jumped up as did a couple of men, the rest kept on eating.

  When the man released her and stepped back, she saw it had been a knife held at her back. A long bladed knife. Inwardly, she quaked with fear but dared not show it. These people might respect bravery.

  “I’m not a boy.” She swept off her hat, letting her plait fall free. “I’m on my own.” Probably foolish to admit it yet she had no choice, they would soon find out she was alone.

  The men, who were dark and swarthy looking, could easily pass for Mexicans, the women a little less so.

  “Could I have some food please, I’m starving.”

  Without a word a young woman filled a bowl with stew and handed it over. Another gave her a spoon. Alfie spooned in a couple of mouthfuls. “I’m Alfie Montague.”

  “Montague?” One man snatched the bowl from her, another drew his knife. “Montague Star ranch?”

  “No, well yes.” In a few words she told them what had happened. The bowl was handed back to her and she gulped the food down.

  “Evil polecats,” the knife wielding man growled.

  “May a pox descend on them,” an old woman said.

  “I have to get away from them, you’ve obviously heard how ruthless Joseph Montague is.”

  “He lynched my brother a couple of years back,” the man with the knife said.

  “What!” Alfie rocked back on her heels.

  “He took one of their steers. It had been a hard winter and his family had to eat.”

  “I’m sure Toby wasn’t like that. His father yes, I could easily believe he would. Mrs. Montague carries on like a demented witch.”

  “A good thing the family will die out within the next few years,” said the old woman who had been staring at Alfie.

  “It won’t if I’m carrying Toby’s child, that’s why they want it.”

  “You aren’t carrying his child.”

  “Why do you say that, I don’t even know whether I am or not.”

  “I can read it in your eyes.”

  “My Pa can do that, said he had the gift.”

  “Does he have any Romnichel blood?”

  “What?”

  “Gypsy blood.”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Somewhere along the line he does, a couple of generations back maybe. Your ancestors come from England? Wales?”

  “I think so. What about my horse?”

  “Sit, you look exhausted,” the old woman said. “I’m Nadia. “Look after her horse, Daniel.” A youth darted off. Nadia was obviously the matriarch of the group.

  A young woman handed her a mug of coffee. I’m Sarah, Nadia’s granddaughter. We’re traveling to a large clan meeting. I’m to be married then.”

  “Congratulations.”

  Sarah’s red dress had a flared skirt and a wide yellow waistband. Gold earrings, dangling from her ear lobes, matched the numerous bracelets around her slender wrists.

  Nadia shooed her granddaughter away. “We don’t like non-gypsies traveling with us, you are unclean, but you can travel with us for a couple of days. We can feed you.”

  “Thank you, Nadia. A couple of days would be good. I can sleep in my bedroll. I’ll be happy to work for my food.”

  “What can a slip of a girl like you do?” one of the men, who was lounging against a tree, asked.

  “Most things a man can do. Pa brought me up like a boy. My sisters and I regularly drove freight wagons.”

  She knew they didn’t believe her, but didn’t want them to think she would abuse their hospitality by arguing with them. These people were an answer to her prayers. No posse or hired guns would think of looking for her with gypsies. Their horses’ hooves would cover any marks she left behind if they did have someone who would could follow tracks.

  On Daniel’s return, he immediately set to work unsaddling her horse. “He’s a plain specimen of horse flesh,” he said. “I think he’s got drop foot.”

  “I know, but was all I could get at short notice. I’ve nursed him along as best I could. Besides, a nondescript looking horse doesn’t draw much attention.”

  A few of the children edged in closer. All in all, about fifteen people traveled in four wagons, not a great number to her way of thinking. “I thought gypsies usually traveled together in greater numbers,” she blurted without thinking. Freddie always said she had a big mouth.

  A sudden wave of homesickness swept over her. Would she ever see the family again? Work with Billy and Alex? Watch Freddie and Nick’s baby grow up? Even if Pa would be prepared to take her back, she couldn’t risk their lives, the same with cousin Jeb and Uncle John in Austin.

  Until she knew the Montagues had lost interest in her, she couldn’t put the family in danger. The Montagues were rich, powerful, and who knew how far their evil tentacles reached.

  “We were delayed,” Nadia said. “The other members of the clan went on ahead.”

  One of the men produced a fiddle and proceeded to play a sad, haunting tune. Just matches my mood, Alfie thought.

  The sun almost fell down the back of the distant mountains, one minute it was there all red and glowing, the next it wasn’t.

 
One of the men strode over. “Ma, I’ll do guard duty tonight with Luca,” he said. Glancing at Alfie, he gave a slight bow. “I’m Rolf.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Rolf. I was just telling your mother I’m prepared to work for the food and protection you’re giving me. I’m too exhausted tonight, I have to admit I’ve barely slept since I escaped from Bakerville. Tomorrow night I’ll take my turn. And.” She jiggled a finger at him. “I’m a crack shot with a rifle, both my sisters and I are.”

  He grinned. “I believe you, I’ll make sure I don’t fall foul of you.”

  A couple of other young men stared at her and she lowered her head, not wanting to stir up any trouble.

  “Come, you can sleep under my vardos.”

  “What!”

  “Wagon.” Nadia cackled.

  It was hard to tell how old she was, but in her sixties at least. Luca and Rolf stepped into a clump of trees and disappeared.

  “Do you normally post guards?”

  “No, but we’re a small band and these are dangerous times for gypsies.”

  The families wandered back to their wagons, leaving only Nadia and Sarah with Alfie. She noticed that the fire had been built up to ward off marauding animals. She shivered. Four legged animals didn’t worry her, only the two legged ones did.

  Nadia stared into the fire. From her pocket she produced a handful of blue powder and threw it on the flames. Sparks flew up with a loud crackle, followed by silence, as a reddy-purple smoke wafted over the fireplace.

  The old woman picked up Alfie’s hand. “Your future looks good,” she said softly.

  “How can it with me on the run from people who want to kill me?”

  “You will find love again. I see a tall man who is on a mission. He will one day give you the family you crave.”

  The hair stood up on the back of Alfie’s neck. “How do you know?”

  “The purple smoke never lies. Come, time to rest. We retire early and rise early.”

  Alfie wandered off to check on her horse. The gelding was tethered by a rope attached to a steel picket driven into the ground, close to the wagon horses. Her saddle was propped up against a tree, her Winchester beside it. She unstrapped her bedroll and with it in one hand and the rifle in the other, headed back to Nadia’s wagon. No-one was around now. She couldn’t see or hear Rolf or Luca so anyone creeping up on the camp wouldn’t know they were there.

  If she stayed with the gypsies for a couple of days, she could still cut across country and head for the hills like she planned. Feeling more confident now that she would make good her escape, Alfie crawled under the wagon and made ready to sleep.

  ****

  Next morning after a breakfast of dried meat and unleavened bread washed down with coffee, they set off. She was driving Rolf’s wagon, as it would give him a chance to catch a couple of hours sleep. Her horse was tied to the first wagon so the horses pulling the following wagons would obliterate any hoof marks left by her mount. She was grateful to these people for their help.

  Rolf, who had worked in Texas over numerous years, suggested she hide in one of the old empty cabins scattered around the mountains. On and off over the years trappers had stayed in them. No-one seemed to own these abandoned places.

  Nadia had another suggestion. Her sister Florence, who had been cast out of the gypsy clan because she married a non-gypsy, also lived in the mountains on an isolated property. She rarely ventured into the nearest town because people considered her a witch, because of her magical powers. She would probably help.

  The isolation sounded perfect. If she could avoid detection for three or four months, it might be safe to venture out of hiding, particularly if she wasn’t having a baby. It was all she could come up with at the moment.

  Thanks to Pa’s upbringing she could just about live off the land with a minimum of supplies. Once winter came, it would be a different story. She would be hard-pressed to survive.

  Chapter Seven

  Eli Darcy grinned as he rode out of Bakerville. “Well, pardner.” He patted his black gelding’s neck. “I think we both had a good night.”

  Devil tossed his head in agreement. He had obviously enjoyed the pampering at the livery.

  “I sure enjoyed my evening.” Eli was well pleased with his stop-over. A bath and shave, a decent meal and a few hours of pleasure in the arms of a pretty dove at the local cathouse. What could be better than that? Well, getting the offer of a job that’s what.

  A five-hundred-dollar reward to find, and discretely bring in a gal called Alfreda Montague, whose in-laws owned the Montague Star ranch. The job was going to be so easy he almost felt guilty about it. Discretion was his second name with so much reward money on offer.

  He didn’t like Joe Montague, hated rich ranchers like him, but he had lost his only son, so he did feel sorry for him. To add to the old man’s grief, the gold-digging woman the boy had married only a couple of days before he was murdered, had cleaned out his pockets as he lay dead on the floor. He couldn’t understand why she wasn’t just put on a Wanted Poster as a thief and a suspected murderess. There again, the family probably didn’t want it broadcast all over Texas that their son had allowed himself to be duped by such a woman.

  The words weren’t spelled out for him, but he got the message - the Montagues thought their daughter-in-law was implicated in his killing. There were some cold-blooded, vicious women around. He had come across one or two in his travels over the years.

  “This job will be our last, Dev, then we’ll give up the wandering lifestyle, buy a ranch and settle down.” Thanks to this windfall and the money he had saved up, he wouldn’t need to borrow from the bank. He was tired of roaming around, never staying in one place for long. At thirty years of age he wanted to settle down, get himself a wife and family. Live like ordinary folk.

  For as long as he could remember, he had roamed throughout the West with his father who peddled his snake-oil remedies and cures, never staying in one place for more than a few days. He had lost count of the number of times Pa had been run out of various towns when people discovered what he sold them was little more than colored water. The salves he made were a little better, they did work some of the time.

  Pa had lived with the Lakota Indians for a couple of years when he was young and had learned about the uses of dried plants and animal parts for healing wounds. Of course, being Pa, he had put his own interpretation on it by mixing the ingredients with beeswax among other things.

  He ran a hand across his chin and there was no rasping of bristles as was usually the case. A man who lived by the gun, usually died by the gun someone had once said. It was true, there was always some young cowboy itching to make a name for himself by beating him to the draw.

  He had lived by the gun for too long, hiring himself out to the highest bidder and making extra on the side by catching outlaws who had a price on their head. Never a woman outlaw, though.

  Devil loped along, giving him plenty of time to think. That horse of mine is almost human he thought. For nearly seven years they had been together. He had won the gelding in a poker hand in some town, that he couldn’t even remember the name of now.

  The sun was warm on his back, and silence reigned except for the raucous cry of a bird every now and again. He liked peace and quiet, liked his own company most of the time, too.

  “The prints of the horse the Marshal had said belonged to Alfreda Montague were clearly visible in the dust. Few people passed along this route at this time of year, and as the horse had some kind of deformity of the right front hoof, it was easy enough to follow.

  ****

  On the third day of his quest for Alfreda, he didn’t know what she looked like just had a brief description of her to go on, Eli realized wagons and horses had passed by and obliterated the signs he had been following. Hell and damnation. It was going to be harder than he had thought to catch her, but he wasn’t giving up, not with a five hundred dollar reward dangling in front of him. He would find that gal and br
ing her back to Bakerville no matter what. It might take him a little longer than he had first anticipated, still, he had six weeks in which to do it.

  Gunshots broke the silence, birds soared skyward. Devil’s head went back and he became skittish. “Easy, boy. You’ve heard gunshots before. It’s none of our business.”

  Smoke spiraling upward, like a dirty black ribbon, danced in the wind. The firing started up again. Curiosity got the better of him. He kneed Dev to pick up speed and the gelding’s lope changed into a gallop. He was starting to get a bad feeling deep in his gut about this. Turning a corner Eli spotted a wagon burning fiercely.

  The horses were gone. As he neared the wagon he noticed a sweat stained horse lying dead on the ground, ridden until it dropped by the looks of things.

  Dismounting, he left Devil to his own devices. He never wandered far and a whistle always had him trotting back. He was a well-trained horse and a good companion. He wouldn’t sell him for a king’s ransom.

  A young woman’s naked body lay near the horse. She had obviously been violated. Bile rose up into his throat and he spat it out, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt. She was blonde and quite tall, so it wasn’t Alfreda who was described as having brown hair and being short in stature.

  Was it the Dangerfield gang? This was the kind of senseless violence they indulged in. A few feet away, a young man lay in the dirt, a Winchester by his side. Further away another body was stretched out. Eli walked over to it. Sonofabitch, it was Lew one of the Dangerfield brothers. Evil varmints were ruthless, callous and cold blooded murderers. He had been hunting them on and off for years. What in tarnation would they be doing this far away from the badlands?

  He headed back to the wagon, which wasn’t burning so fiercely now. A groan came from the young man. He was still alive. Eli stepped over to him for a closer inspection. He had been gut shot by the looks of him, and had also taken a bullet near his shoulder.

  Squatting down beside the man he picked up his cold hand. He was too badly wounded to survive for much longer.

  “Daisy.” The man’s voice was hoarse as Eli leaned closer to him.