Gun for Revenge

by Steve Hayes

  ‘Sweet Judas!’ Gabriel said, suddenly realizing. ‘It was at the church, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Church?’

  ‘Back there at Cohiba, when you were praying? What happened, Ellie? Did you confess to the padre and he made you see the light of God?’

  She avoided his gaze and he knew he’d hit pay dirt.

  ‘Killing is wrong,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve known that all along. But all I could think of was revenge … of getting even for Cally’s sake. But when I talked to Padre Felipe—’

  ‘He put you in touch with your conscience?’

  She let all her feelings out in a long troubled sigh.

  ‘Perhaps. I honestly don’t know. I do know killing is wrong and at the same time I know, God help me, I still want Slade and the Iversons dead. I just don’t know if I can be the one to kill them. Or worse, have you kill them for me. Oh Gabe,’ she said miserably, ‘I know how crazy I must sound. I can’t even believe what I’m saying myself. For weeks now I’ve been so consumed with hatred and the idea of avenging Cally, I couldn’t think of anything else. But now – now, I’m not so sure. I’m so confused I don’t know what to do. I can’t even think straight any more.’

  He gazed up into her face, into her distraught, pain-filled violet eyes and saw she was telling the truth. Immediately he knew what he had to do.

  ‘Then I’ll have to think for you, Ellie. For both of us, I reckon.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said wearily. ‘You will. You must.’

  He swung up into the saddle and waited for her to remount before spurring the Morgan down the muddy bank and on into the river in the direction of Santa Rosa.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  As they crossed the railroad tracks and entered the hot dusty town from the south, the wind changed direction – now it was in their faces and they could smell the stockyards. They rode past the holding-pens, the lowing of the densely packed cattle sounding like a desert wind, and turned onto Main Street.

  ‘Things haven’t changed much,’ Gabriel said. ‘Cattle still stink an’ most of ’em still wear a Double SS brand.’

  ‘And Santa Rosa still owes its existence to Stadtlander’s money,’ Ellen reminded him. ‘Including – no, especially – the law.’

  Gabriel grunted. ‘If you’re tryin’ to scare me into changing my mind, Ellie, it ain’t workin’.’

  As they made their way between the oncoming buckboards and other riders, Gabriel realized little had changed during his five-year absence. Main Street was still unpaved and rutted by heavy freight wagons; and though the boardwalks had recently been widened, allowing people to pass one another without bumping shoulders, the hotels, cantinas, stores, livery stables, law offices and barbershops lining them still looked familiar.

  Unfortunately, he hadn’t changed much either. And he and Ellen had barely entered town when a passerby recognized him.

  After a quick double take, the elderly woman ducked into Melvin’s Haberdashery and within moments she, the owner and several customers reappeared, eyes saucers, mouths agape, and watched as Gabriel and Ellen rode on up the street.

  Faster than a common cold, word spread through town that Mesquite Jennings was back.

  Shoppers turned to watch him and Ellen ride past.

  Riders twisted in their saddles to get a second look.

  Alarmed mothers dragged their struggling children away.

  Street urchins ran alongside Gabriel, hands held like pistols, shooting each other and dying in gasping, dramatic ways.

  ‘Bang! Bang! Bang!’

  ‘Yer dead, Mesquite,’ one kid screamed at another.

  ‘No, I ain’t, Sheriff. I shot you first!

  ‘Didn’t.’

  ‘Did, too!’

  Gabriel ignored them. But Ellen, distressed by their yelling, shouted at them to go away.

  Her anger only fed their curiosity.

  ‘You a outlaw too?’ a carrot-haired, gap-toothed boy asked her. ‘Are ya, are ya, are ya?’ he demanded when she looked away. ‘I bet you are.’

  ‘How many people you shot?’ asked another.

  ‘She ain’t shot any,’ his friend said. ‘How could she? She ain’t even wearin’ a gun!’

  ‘But he is,’ said the redhead, pointing at Gabriel. ‘An’ I bet he’s shot more’n a hundred.’

  Upset, Ellen kicked the roan into a faster gait.

  ‘Little monsters,’ she said when Gabriel caught up to her. ‘They act like you’re some kind of carnival freak. Please,’ she begged when he didn’t answer, ‘let’s ride out of here while you still have the chance.’

  ‘I’m done runnin’,’ was all he said. They rode on.

  A few minutes later a deputy spotted them tying their horses to the rail fronting the Carlisle Hotel.

  He froze in his tracks, praying that Gabriel hadn’t seen him and at the same time making sure his hands weren’t near his six-gun. He wasn’t pulling down enough wages to challenge a professional gunfighter; especially one who had reputedly killed ten men.

  Waiting until they entered the hotel, he sprinted to the office to notify Sheriff Forbes that his old nemesis was back.

  The desk clerk at the Carlisle Hotel was equally intimidated.

  A prissy young Nellie with yellow hair slicked down with lilac-scented tonic, he was so sugary polite and ingratiating that Gabriel eventually lost his temper. Grabbing him by the lapels, he pulled his face close and said:

  ‘Quit runnin’ your mouth, you little squirt, an’ hand over the damn room key!’

  Terrified, the clerk obeyed.

  ‘W-Will there be anything else, sir?’ he stammered.

  ‘Yeah, I need you to get a case of the forgets.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘If anybody asks you which room Miss Kincaide’s in, you tell ’em you don’t remember. Savvy?’

  ‘But, sir—’

  ‘ ’Specially anybody who rides for the Double SS. You got that? You don’t remember!’

  ‘Yes, sir. I understand, sir. Perfectly, sir. Thank you, sir. Thank you very much. Enjoy your stay.’ He watched his guests climb the stairs to the second floor and then had to sit down before he fainted.

  Room 214 was small, clean and comfortable with a window overlooking Main Street. Gabriel pulled the sun-faded curtain back enough so he could watch what was going on outside, and saw a gangling young rider gallop out of town. His deputy star glinted in the sunlight and Gabriel guessed he was headed out to the Double SS. He knew then that any chance of surprising Stadtlander was gone. Now, when he rode out to the ranch, they would be waiting for him.

  As if reading his mind, Ellen clutched his arm and begged him to change his mind.

  He ignored her and continued staring out the window.

  ‘Please, Gabe, you don’t have to do this. There’s still time for us to ride out of here or to catch the 4:17 to Las Cruces. Please,’ she said when he didn’t answer. ‘I’m begging you. Oh dear God, why won’t you listen to reason?’

  He turned from the window, cupped his rough hands about her face, and studied her with his flinty blue eyes.

  ‘If I agree,’ he said softly, ‘will you come with me?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I don’t just mean to Las Cruces.’

  His remark caught her by surprise.

  ‘W-Where then?’

  ‘Arizona. Texas. Maybe even California. Don’t matter much where or which direction. Just so we keep one jump ahead of the posse.’

  She hesitated, suddenly realizing he was asking her to run away with him. It wasn’t the life she wanted, but unable to face the thought of being responsible for the death of a third man, she said bravely:

  ‘Yes. Of course I will.’

  ‘I got your word on that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘An’ the convent … your vows to the church an’ desire to do God’s work … you’ll sweep all that under the rug?’

  She nodded, unable to actually say the words.

  He searched h
er face with his eyes for another moment and then gently kissed her on the lips.

  She tried to respond, but much as she cared for him it was useless. She had already given herself to another.

  Gabriel smiled gratefully at her.

  ‘I figured as much.’

  ‘Wait,’ she said as he walked to the door. ‘Where’re you going?’

  ‘Where you can’t.’

  ‘To brace Stadtlander?’

  He nodded, tight-lipped.

  ‘I don’t understand. What about us? I thought you just said … asked me to run off with you?’

  ‘An’ you lied ’bout as well as anyone could.’

  ‘I wasn’t—’

  ‘An’ for that I thank you.’

  She realized he’d only been testing her.

  ‘That wasn’t fair, Gabe.’

  Sorry for embarrassing her, he said: ‘I had to know.’

  ‘What if I’d been serious?’

  ‘I still would’ve told you no.’ His voice gentled. ‘You’re a fine woman, Ellie. I could do no better. But like I told your sister: it wouldn’t work. Bein’ on the run’s akin to no life at all. It wears on you, drags you down no matter who you are.’

  Surprised, Ellen said: ‘Cally wanted to go? She never told me that.’

  ‘No reason to. How we felt about each other, that was between us.’ He put his hat on and opened the door. ‘Now, you go wash up an’ then get on the train, Ellie. Get on that train an’ go back to the convent. Do what you were born for. An’ I’ll do the same.’

  ‘Gabe….’

  He stopped, halfway out the door.

  ‘… I’m sorry.’

  ‘For what? Tryin’ to save my life?’ He smiled. ‘’Cept for Cally, you’re the only person ever cared enough to do that.’ He was gone before she could say anything.

  Ellen moved to the door, looked out and along the green-walled hallway and saw him descending the stairs. She hoped he would look back, maybe even wave goodbye, but he did neither.

  Eyes stinging with tears, she sadly closed the door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Emerging from the hotel, Gabriel paused on the boardwalk and looked around. He half-expected to find Sheriff Forbes with his deputies gathered in the street, waiting for him with their scatterguns ready.

  But there wasn’t a lawman in sight. No-good gutless bastard, Gabriel thought. He’s goin’ to stay out of sight an’ let Stadtlander do his dirty work for him.

  He turned into the sun, pulled his hat low over his eyes and walked back to the livery stable. Oncoming pedestrians quickly stepped out of his way and then looked back for a moment, awed by the sight of the infamous gunfighter. With Billy the Kid in his grave, John Wesley Hardin doing time in a Texas prison, and Holliday and the Earp brothers merely a memory at Tombstone, Mesquite Jennings was the last of a vanishing breed.

  Gabriel paid no attention to them. But it was two blocks to the livery stable and he couldn’t help hearing their whispers.

  ‘That’s him!’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘ ’Course I’m sure. That’s Mesquite Jennings, all right.’

  ‘Can you believe it? Walkin’ down Main Street bold as brass.’

  ‘Didn’t he use to ride for the Double SS?’

  ‘Sure. Four, maybe five years ago.’

  ‘Still be workin’ there most likely, if’n he hadn’t stole Mr Stadtlander’s favorite horse.’

  ‘I heard there was a noose waitin’ for him every place he went after that.’

  ‘Still is.’

  ‘Then what the hell’s he doin’ back here?’

  ‘Yeah, an’ who’s the woman with him?’

  ‘Probably some whore he picked up. Like the Kid, he always did have a soft spot for cheap whiskey an’ round-heeled women.’

  Controlling an urge to pistol-whip the last speaker, Gabriel crossed the street to Lars Gustafson’s livery. There, pausing outside the big open door, he glanced back to make sure he hadn’t been followed. When he was satisfied he was safe, he entered the stable and paid the club-footed hostler for feeding and watering the horses.

  ‘What about the roan, Mr Jennings, sir? What you want me to do with her?’

  ‘Keep her here till Miss Kincaide comes by.’ Gabriel handed the hostler extra money. ‘She may want you to hang onto her for a spell, or sell her. I don’t know. But anythin’ the lady asks you to do, do it, OK? Free of charge an’ with a big friendly smile.’

  ‘Yessir, Mr Jennings. You can count on me, sir. Anythin’ else, sir?’

  ‘Those two smokes you got in your pocket – how much?’

  ‘For you, Mr Jennings – nothin’. No charge at all. Hell, it’s an honor just to know you smoked ’em.’

  He watched the tall, rangy gunfighter step into the saddle and ride off.

  Mesquite Jennings, he said to himself. I’ll be damned. He whistled softly knowing that one day, when his kids grew up and had young’uns of their own, he’d gather them all around him and tell them the story of the day that he, Thomas Edwin Madden, gave New Mexico’s most famous outlaw since Billy the Kid his last two cigars.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  As he rode away from the stable, turned onto Lower Front Street and continued through the poorer section of Santa Rosa, Gabriel looked up and saw three of Mama Rosita’s whores watching him intently from an open window above the Copper Palace.

  He didn’t recognize any of them, but he grinned and tipped his hat anyway and was surprised when they didn’t respond. Whores made most of their money from repeat business and ignoring strangers wasn’t smart or customary.

  Blaming it on his reputation, he took out one of the hostler’s cheap cigars, bit the end off and stuck it in his mouth. As he went to fire a match on the saddle horn he saw a glint of metal in the alley next to the Copper Palace.

  Instinctively, he threw himself sideways, freeing his boots from the stirrups and leaping out of the saddle on the other side of the horse – hearing as he did the familiar ‘pa-a-anng!’ of a rifle.

  A second later he hit the ground. Keeping his momentum going by rolling over, he came up on one knee and, gun already in hand, fired twice under the belly of the Morgan at a figure crouched in the mouth of the alley.

  The man dropped his Winchester, stumbled back and collapsed in the dirt.

  Gabriel scrambled across the street and dived behind a public water trough.

  More gunfire came from across the street. Bullets and shotgun slugs thunked into the trough near his head. As he peered around the side he saw Slade Stadtlander and the younger of the Iverson brothers, Cody, firing at him from the entrance of the Copper Palace.

  Gabriel knew Slade was a better shot, but he was shooting a six-gun, while Cody was blasting at him with a scattergun. The choice was simple. Gabriel waited until he’d fired both barrels, the heavy slugs tearing chunks of wood from the trough, and then stood up and fanned three shots at the bearded Iverson.

  Cody took them in the chest. He staggered back as if pushed by a giant hand, dropped his 12-gauge and crumpled onto his face.

  Shocked by Cody’s death, Slade hastily emptied his .45 at Gabriel, turned and ran back into the saloon.

  Gabriel crossed the street, reloading as he walked. He was pissed at himself. Before he’d holed up in Mexico he would never have been caught off-guard like that; he would have expected word of his presence to have spread to every saloon and whorehouse in Santa Rosa – and, as a result, would have anticipated someone to come gunning for him. Either some punk kid gunslinger, anxious to make a fast reputation for himself, or maybe a bounty hunter; or even one of Sheriff Forbes’s deputies, who were known to be backshooters.

  Instead, he’d grown complacent and had narrowly escaped being shot down in broad daylight. Well, he promised himself grimly, it sure as hell wouldn’t happen again.

  He mounted the boardwalk and paused at the entrance to the venerable old saloon and gambling palace. Then he stepped to one side and peered over t
he batwing doors.

  Inside, everyone was trying to look normal as they either stood drinking at the long half-moon bar or played poker or faro in the casino in back.

  A little too normal, Gabriel thought. He glanced up at the balcony leading to the whores’ rooms, and saw a couple of cowboys talking to a straw-haired woman who looked fat and sweaty in red satin.

  Deciding not to risk falling into a trap, Gabriel walked to the alley and knelt beside the man he’d shot earlier. As he rolled him over with his boot, he saw it was the older Iverson, Mace.

  His eyelids fluttered and Gabriel realized he was still alive. Kneeling, he put his lips against Mace’s ear and whispered:

  ‘This is for Cally….’ and shot him in the forehead.

  The booming echo of the shot was still reverberating in the alley when Gabriel heard the sound of a horse galloping away. He ran to the end of the alley and peered over the fence – in time to see Slade riding off in the direction of the Double SS.

  So, Gabriel thought as he ejected the spent shells and reloaded the Peacemaker. It’s all going to end at the same place it started.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  With the hubbub of Santa Rosa fading behind him, Gabriel picked up the trail leading out to the Double SS and kicked the stallion into a mile-consuming lope. The Morgan was more co-operative than he’d expected it to be after the spurring he’d given it in San Dimas, and leery of its penchant for payback he kept a watchful eye on its behavior as they rode across the hot open wasteland.

  In a way it was a blessing, he thought. Having to worry about being bucked off gave him something to think of besides the trouble he knew was waiting for him at Stadtlander’s.

  It was an hour’s ride to the high, arched, signature gateway that warned everyone they were entering Double SS land; and then another twenty minute climb up to the crest of the flat-topped knoll on which stood the rancher’s impressive, Western-style mansion.