by P. A. Bechko
The man in the chair grinned, unperturbed. “Si, I am Roberto Hernandez. I slit his throat and I am glad.” He looked up at Hollander defiantly. “First he borrowed money and refused to return it. I am a poor man, senor. But even that was not enough for him. While I worked in the fields, he took my woman. Friends of mine saw and told me. I should have killed her too,” he added, “but she is my woman, and I want her still.”
Horror stricken, Amanda glanced at Hollander for confirmation. He nodded grimly.
“Come on,” he said roughly, “we’re pulling out. There’s nothing we can do here.”
He picked up the knife. “I’ll leave this in a fence post down at the livery, but let me see your face down there before we leave and I’ll blow your head off.”
Roberto met Hollander’s steady gaze with a glare, then shrugged, promising nothing. Hollander didn’t care which way the murderous Roberto was inclined. He’d meant what he said, and his gun was loaded.
Grasping Amanda by the elbow, he guided her out the door and into the bright sunlight. The town was backing Roberto. They would not be spending the night in the quiet little village after all. They would rest themselves and their horses elsewhere.
Amanda shook off his grip and walked beside him.
“Next time you go after a man with a knife,” he counciled with deliberate calm and touch of sarcasm as they walked, “Make sure your gun is loaded.”
Amanda gave him an inelegant snort in response.
“What about Rafael’s split of the money?” Amanda asked as they walked briskly toward the fallen down livery.
Hollander shrugged. “There’s no telling. It wasn’t with the body. I didn’t find it with his grieving mistress. I doubt our friend Roberto knows anything about it or he would have killed him sooner. Maybe he spent it, or lost it to someone more crooked than him.”
They saddled their exhausted animals and tossed their gear across their saddles.
“Village might have it,” Hollander went on while he gathered up the reins to mount. “If it does, there’s no way we’re going to get it back, or even find out about it for a fact.”
Amanda just shook her head and swung wearily up into the saddle. Hollander spotted the blood across her middle for the first time.
He paused where he stood on the ground. “Why the hell didn’t you say something?”
“It’s just a scratch.”
“You’re lucky he didn’t tear your guts out.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Hollander swung up with a muted creak of leather, settling into the saddle. In silence they rode slowly out of town.
Chapter 18
With Santa Cruz behind them they rode at an easy pace, spelling the animals frequently. They didn’t even know where they were headed exactly but the horses needed the rest.
Amanda rode beneath her own cloud of gloom. How were they going to put the pieces together? They’d played the last card in the hand they’d been dealt and come up empty. Hollander, hat brim pulled low, rode ahead of her, slump-shouldered, plainly blocking out the world.
They should have gotten out of the Arizona territory when they had had the chance, just put the whole thing behind them. Amanda wallowed in her misery, casting glances in Hollander’s direction, then beyond toward the beckoning mountains. She sat less than straight in her saddle and followed at the plodding pace he set.
For Hollander’s part, the mountains were ahead. Water and a place where they could camp to rest themselves and the animals beckoned. It would be at least several days before they’d be prepared to push on. What had to be decided was the direction they would be heading.
He wondered what was on Amanda’s mind after all they’d been through together. It would seem that the chase was over, that they had lost. But they had come far, and Hollander, figuring they’d tried everything else, was ready to run a bluff. It would be riskiest thing they had faced together thus far, but that was all there was left.
More than half way up the gentle slope of a dome-shaped hill, the water tanks Hollander remembered to be hidden amongst the rolling dips and swells still high above them, Colorado, went lame. He just stopped dead in his tracks and lifted his hoof pitifully above the ground, head hanging low while he whuffed and chuffed the baking air.
Amanda instantly slid off his back She was speaking softly to the suffering animal, almost in tears, stroking his injured leg, when Hollander joined her.
“Let’s have a look.”
He held his own horse’s reins loosely in one hand as he lifted Colorado’s left right hoof and examined it thoroughly. After a few moments he straightened, dragging his shirt sleeve across his forehead.
“Just a stone bruise. It’ll heal. Just take us a mite longer to get where we’re going. We get lucky and there might even be a cool pool of water to bathe that hoof in when we arrive.” He grinned. “Figured we’d be sitting tight once we get there anyway.”
Amanda nodded firmly. Her hand stroked the horse’s shoulder, more than ever aware of the heat rising up off the ground in waves and the lather that caked her exhausted mount’s coat.
“Whatever it takes. I won’t abandon Colorado.”
“Didn’t even think of asking you to. My horse is too tired to carry two even if I wanted to chance it. For now, we all walk.”
Hollander took the lead again, walking steadily ahead of his horse, the animal following close behind, head lowered, hoofs dragging. The occasional waft of air blowing down from the higher mountains to the northwest of them had in it a suggestion of enticing coolness, beckoning them on. Colorado snuffed at the fresher air and limped gamely in Amanda’s wake.
* * *
Two days outside of Santa Cruz, their course drifting slightly west of north, Hollander found the water he had been searching for and they made camp. Amanda automatically fell to her duties.
All that walking and climbing over the last few miles had helped Amanda sort things through and she came to a decision .
While Hollander took care of the worn out horses, giving Colorado special care, Amanda prepared their first hot meal in two days. The bright little campfire did much to lift her spirits and strengthen her resolve. She wasn’t going back East. She wasn’t even considering it, and never would. It must have shown on her face and in the set of her shoulders.
Hollander came up behind her, draping a blanket around her as the sun dipped low in the sky and the inevitable chill swept in behind the day’s sweltering heat.
“There’s only one way left to prove our innocence you know.”
Amanda nodded.
“And you’ve made up your mind already.”
She inclined her head again.
The heady aroma of strong coffee on the boil curled up to tantalize Hollander and he dropped down on the ground beside her with a grunt staring at the pan where dumplings and fat back sizzled along with a couple of stray wild onions.
“And here I thought we were going to have to have us a serious talk.”
Amanda smiled, a pleasant, weary expression of bemusement, as she split the pan between them, Hollander getting the more generous portion.
“So did I.”
A coyote howled in the distance. A far off, lonely sound. Then a chorus joined in with the lone howler.
“Sane folks would give up and clear out, put as many miles between us and those posters out on us as we could. But,” he looked at her out of the corner of his eye, “we aren’t going to do that, are we?”
Amanda’s green eyes glittered with renewed humor. “We were once, but I believe it’s doubtful now.”
“We’re going after Berglund. We’re going to take the banker down.” He hesitated, face sober. “It means walking under the hangman’s noose, and praying it doesn’t drop on us.”
Amanda wanted to eat and talk at the same time. She had to settle for taking small bites and talking around them.
“How?”
“Run a bluff the size of which B
erglund would never conceive.”
“You have a plan in mind?”
“Convince that slimy banker we got back all the money from the others and we have proof he was involved in the robbery. We have enough of the money and the belongings of his cohorts to make him believe that and that we killed the others. Convince him we’re planning his end and we’ll scare the bejasus out of him. I figure he’ll spill everything.” Hollander paused. “You have a friend in that town? One who won’t turn you in before she hears Berglund’s admission that he planned that robbery.”
“There’s Laura. We can trust her.”
“You sure? I mean damned sure? We’re going to be in a mighty deep water if we go in there.”
“I’m sure,” Amanda returned firmly, but she was no such thing.
Laura was good and honest, but she was afraid of Berglund. No doubt she’d help them if she could, but it was a mighty big if.
Then, there was this return to Phoenix. She’d planned on returning to the dusty desert town with at least one of the bank robbers in tow and a good portion, if not all, of the money in their possession. That plan had included returning the money to the sheriff while their captured bank robber confessed his crimes and implicated John Berglund.
“And if he won’t bluff?”
Hollander picked up his tin cup and poured himself another cup of the strong coffee.
“Then we run like hell—again.”
Amanda peered at him through the steam rising from the cup cradled between her palms.
“Then we better be sure the horses are well rested and sound before we ride into town.”
Hollander grinned. “I like your style, lady.”
“It’s more bravado than substance, I can guarantee you that, but we’ve come this far. It seems to me like we should finish it.”
She meant what she said, but speaking the words out loud sent a chill up her back. It seemed that along with everything else she’d learned on the trail, she had also managed to cultivate a sense of caution and self-preservation. Along with that, she had discovered another truth along the trail. Quite simply, there was very little that was worth her life. Even if, in the end, it meant running.
“All right,” Amanda said at last, “Let’s see if we can make John Berglund back up and take notice.”
Chapter 19
Jake Hollander and Amanda Cleary made their way back into Phoenix under the cover of darkness. Their horses moved at an easy pace and they slouched in their saddles, hats pulled low. There was no moon, but the stars lay across the black sky in a sparkling blanket. They gleamed and twinkled through the clear, crisp air, appearing near enough to touch.
From somewhere nearby the smell of beef cooking and potatoes frying, drifted past their noses. Their bellies were full. They had never really gone hungry more than a day at a stretch, and that because they had been on the move. Hollander had seen to it. Nonetheless their mouths watered. The last time they’d had anything but their odd assortment of trail food had been the night before their scheduled hanging.
“When this is over,” Amanda murmured to Hollander riding at her side, “we’re going to get some real food. Steak. Potatoes. Fresh eggs and some milk cooled in a clay vessel hung up in the breeze.”
“What? You’ve been eating good. Plenty of rabbit. Ground squirrel, occasional snake.”
“Those didn’t bother me. What did bother me were the ones you never did identify.”
He grinned at her his teeth a slash of white against the night’s darkness.
“What I miss is fruit. In a can. Dried. I don’t care.”
Amanda sighed. “I’m sorry you got caught up in all this.”
As was his way, Hollander rode ready for trouble, hand hanging near his six-gun, rifle tucked up against his knee. The main street was deserted, the back streets they traversed now were even less frequented. He gave her a solemn look, lightened by a quirky lift of his pale eyebrow.
“Well, my life ain’t never been easy. Just seemed to have gotten a mite worse than usual after I came to Phoenix.”
Amanda gave an appreciative laugh as their mounts continued at a walk, hoofs making soft clopping sounds. Colorado was again sound, Hollander had made sure of that before they had head out across open desert.
He glanced at Amanda through the darkness, aware of every feature, every nuance, despite the gloom of night. She had done something to him, this woman, over the long weeks they’d spent together as the heat of desert summer had subtly shifted and shaded into the chill of southwest winter. In a strange way he wasn’t sure he wanted it to end.
“You’re the damndest woman I’ve ever known,” he said from out of the blue. “You watch yourself now and remember what you learned.”
Amanda looked at Hollander, gave a nod, and straightened in her saddle as they walked their horses along behind the string of buildings that faced the street. They were headed Laura Chambly’s house at the far end of the row.
Hollander eased the loop off the hammer of his gun about the same time as Amanda. Together their eyes probed deeply into the night surrounding them. They were aware of their vulnerability, depending on surprise as an ally. If it didn’t work it could be over in a heartbeat. Both wished for eyes in the backs of their heads.
“I’ll talk to Laura. It’d be better if you don’t show yourself until I can explain things to her.”
Hollander grunted his agreement.
At the end of the street, they pulled up behind the little painted frame house. Amanda slid to the ground and moved to the back door, knocking softly while Hollander stayed in the saddle and held her horse, staying out of view. Seconds dragged past while she stood in the darkness of the shadowed doorway, waiting.
Then, from inside, light footsteps and a latch snicked back. In the next moment the lamplight flooded through the door, haloing Amanda briefly in its yellow glow before she jumped to one side blending with the shadows of the night.
But Laura had already gotten herself a good enough look. She stepped back pulling the door more fully open.
“Oh my God, Amanda! Are you crazy? Get inside before someone sees you!”
Nightgown and wrapper flowing, long brown braid flapping over her left shoulder, Laura reached out, grasping Amanda by the wrist and dragged her inside, swiftly latching it behind them without taking notice of Hollander occupying the darker shadows. A few seconds later the door swung open again, and Amanda signaled Hollander to join them. Hollander was aware of that old, familiar, tingling feeling of being watched. He saw nothing to be the cause of it, but it made him damned nervous when he tied the horses and started for the door.
He allowed his eyes to wander the back street one last time while his hand rested on the door latch. Then he slipped inside, jittery and unsatisfied.
* * *
Sprawled in the back alley way where he had staggered, dead drunk, earlier in the evening to sleep it off in privacy, Rubin, the town drunk, woke to the soft, nearby clip-clop of horses’ hoofs. It was dark, but he recognized Hollander and Amanda right away despite the startling changes in the woman since that trial. She sure as hell didn’t sit that saddle like no lady. And damned if she wasn’t toting iron. At first he’d been sure the liquor induced haze had to be playing tricks on him. Rubin had been a drunk for more years than he cared to think about, but he had some shreds of pride remaining and he considered himself a good citizen. Bank robbers and murders shouldn’t be allowed to run loose thataway.
His rheumy eyes glittered. There were posters out on both of them. Being a good citizen could have its rewards. It would be worth a lot of money to someone to know they were right here in town and even in his befuddled state he knew who that someone would be.
He waited until he figured the door to the school teacher’s house wasn’t likely to swing open again real soon, then climbed unsteadily to his feet. In a disjointed, fuzzy sort of way, he thought about going to the sheriff then decided his first choice had been the correct one. He’d go to John Berglund.
The banker was a fair man, had even bought him a couple of drinks in the past. He’d pay him the reward even though Rubin conceded he wasn’t going to do any of the capturing himself. Any fair man could tell with just one look that he wasn’t capable of that. But his efforts deserved recognition. And that recognition appeared as a long line of bottles to his pickled brain.
* * *
John Berglund, clad in a light buckskin jacket he’d had made for cool evenings at home, a comfortable pair of trousers and hand-made slippers, listened with interest to what the old drunk, Rubin, had to say. The town sot wasn’t worth much, and his red-rimmed, eyes were always watery, always staring with a sort of kicked-dog look. Still, Berglund was, and always had been, of the opinion that it was to his benefit to have others beholden to him, including a soused reprobate. Now it was paying off. He didn’t know how much of what the old man was telling him was truth, but the matter was worth investigating.
He narrowed cold brown eyes, drew himself up and peered down at Rubin from his full height, imposing, intimidating. When he spoke his voice was rough, words blunt.
“You’re sure? You can’t be mistaken about seeing those two bank robbers behind Miss Chambly’s house? You’ve been drinking. A man can make mistakes when he’s been getting into the liquor. Could it have been someone else?”
Clutching his tattered, canvas hat in his permanently soiled, gnarled hands as a humble servant would, Rubin shook his head. He was more sober now than he had been in months.
“No sir, Mr. Berglund. “I mean yes sir. There’s no mistake. That Amanda woman, she sat the saddle like a Texas ranger, but it was her all right.”
The banker strode back and forth across the parlor while the old fool before him remained standing, the closed door at his back.
“Amanda was scared to death of horses.”
Rubin turned his hat in his hands.
“Well she sure ain’t now. Looked like she was born to the saddle, dressed in pants just like a man. Saw her in the moonlight I did. Then, again, in the light from Miss Chambly’s back door. She darkened up some out here in the desert sun. Hair thick and black. And I remember those eyes too, I surely do. Couldn’t believe they were going to hang a woman who looked like that.”
