by Ralph Cotton
When the service had ended Dawson walked away a few steps and looked out from the sloping hillside across a stretch of grasslands where a circle of cattle crowded the sparse shade of a cottonwood tree. “That’s Gains’s special breeding stock,” said Shaney, walking up beside him with the big Bible cradled in his arms. “We could have buried Gains off by himself. But we figured he’d sooner be here on the hillside with his men.” He gestured toward the scattering of other worn markers and stones, men who had fallen in the service of the Double D Spread over the years.
“You’re right, Shaney,” Dawson said quietly. “This is where he would want to be buried.” They stood in silence for a moment feeling a mid-morning breeze on their faces. Then Shaney broke the silence, saying, “The boys are ready to ride to Somos Santos right now, if you are.”
“Not yet,” said Dawson. “We’ll wait a few days out of respect to Gains and the men. Let everybody cool their heads.”
“It’s going to be hard for me to make these boys do that, Dawson. They all feel like revenge is best served hot, before the dirt settles over these coffins.”
“Make them listen to reason, Shaney,” said Dawson. “I’m counting on you.” He turned to walk back to the buckboard.
“All right, I will,” said Shaney, turning beside him and walking a step behind. “But for how long? I’ve got to give them some kind of idea when we’re going.”
“Tell them it’ll be soon, Shaney,” said Dawson, offering no more conversation on the matter.
Shaney stood watching him walk to the trail at the top of the hill where the three women sat waiting in the wagon. Dawson stepped up into the buckboard, took up the reins, and sent the horses forward. “Dang it all!” Shaney whispered under his breath.
“What did he tell you?” asked Broken Nose Simms, he and the others gathering around Shaney, putting their hats back atop their heads.
“He said it’ll be soon,” said Shaney. “Said we ought to get our tempers cooled down first.”
When a moment had passed without Shaney offering any more on the matter, Alvin Decker said, “Is that it? That’s all he had to say about it?”
“Of course that’s all he said!” Shaney looked Decker up and down. “Dawson ain’t a big talker! He says what needs saying then keeps his mouth shut.” He looked all around from one face to the next and said, “That’s a good trait in a man. I’d like to see more of it around here the next few days.”
Barney Woods said impatiently, “Damn it, Shaney, you can’t expect us to stand around here with our thumbs in our belts, like a bunch of bummers! Lematte and his buzzards have got to pay in blood for what they’ve done!”
“They will pay, Barney!” said Shaney. “If we want Dawson to lead us, then we’ve got to do like he says!”
“I don’t like it,” said Barney Woods.
“Neither do I,” said Alven Decker. “I say we send somebody to tell Dawson he either rides in with us today, or else we ride in without him!”
“Listen to me, men,” said Shaney, “I was asked to run this bunch temporarily…and I’m trying to. But if you ain’t going to listen to me, or Dawson either one, we should just as well roll up our blankets and ride away! Let the Double D go to seed!”
The men settled. “Shaney’s right,” said Max Furry. “Me and my brother rode into the town with Cray Dawson. I never seen a man as cool and calm and in control. He knows what he’s doing. I’m waiting till he’s ready. Then I’ll do whatever he asks of me. That’s what Gains Bouchard would want me to do. By thunder, that’s what I’ll do. What about you, brother?” He turned to Eldon Furry. “You were there too. What do you think of Cray Dawson? Is he worth waiting for?”
“I never seen nothing like the man,” said Eldon. “If he says wait a few days…I’ll go along with him on it. He’s got my trust, and that’s from now on.”
Shaney looked all around at the cowhands with his jaw set firmly. “There, now,” he said. “That comes from two men who have already looked down their gun barrels at this situation. Anybody got anything more to say about it?” He looked around again. When no one offered anything further, he said, “All right then. Let’s get ourselves back to our jobs and wait until Dawson is ready to make a move.”
The men nodded and spoke among themselves as they headed up the hill to their horses. Alvin Decker and Barney Woods walked side by side, Woods saying just between the two of them, “I can’t stand waiting like this. I’ve got to do something.”
“I’m the same way,” said Decker, giving him a look. “What say we talk some more about it later on, without all these ears around us?”
“Suits me,” said Barney Woods, glancing back and forth. “With all respect to Crayton Dawson, I don’t need nobody’s help shooting a crazed wolf, do you?”
“I never did,” said Decker. They walked on up to the trail and watched Dawson and the women ride away in the buckboard.
On the way home, Dawson found himself relieved and a bit surprised at the lack of tension between Carmelita and the other two women. While he hadn’t expected hostility, he had anticipated a certain amount of tension. Yet, if any tension existed there, Dawson had not detected it on the ride out from Somos Santos, or at any time since. All he noticed was the formal politeness that came from strangers adjusting to one another. Upon arriving back at the hacienda after the funeral service, Dawson helped each of the women down from the wagon, men left to attend to the animals.
Inside the hacienda, Carmelita had said quietly to Suzzette, “I understand that you and Crayton were together in Eagle Pass.”
“We were,” said Suzzette, seeing no animosity in Carmelita’s eyes or her tone of voice. “But this is not his child I’m carrying.”
Carmelita said, “He told me that it was not his child. But whether it was his child or not, I want you to know that it would make no difference. After what happened to you in Somos Santos you would be welcome to stay here anyway.”
“Thank you,” said Suzzette. “That is kind of you.” Her eyes welled slightly, but she touched a fingertip to them and stepped forward, the two women giving one another a hug while Angel Andrews looked on. Seeing the lonely look on Angel’s face, Carmelita reached an arm out and drew her into their embrace, saying, “And that goes for you, too. You are both welcome here.”
“—I want you to know, Carmelita,” said Suzzette, “that I’m not going to be staying here long. In a few days, when I can travel, I’ll be taking the stage to Missouri.”
“You can stay as long as you like,” said Carmelita.
“Yes, and I’m grateful to you. But I have an aunt in St. Louis. I’ll be going to stay with her before the baby is born. She thinks I came west to marry a miner.” She gave a tired smile. “So I will tell her what she wants to hear when the time comes. It will be all right.”
“You decide what is best for you,” Carmelita said. The women stepped back from one another. Carmelita offered a smile herself, saying, “Now, if only there was a way for these men to keep from killing one another…” She let her words trail, pondering the hopelessness of the matter.
Dawson walked in, and after a few moments of not knowing quite what to say, he excused himself and went back outside. A few minutes later when Carmelita joined him she saw that he had gathered kindling for the chimnea. “Will you be doing the cooking now?” Carmelita asked with a slight smile.
“I figured I’d help out some, give you women some time to get acquainted.”
“I see,” said Carmelita. “Gracias…and now we are all acquainted. So go away; I will prepare all of us something to eat.”
“Obliged,” Dawson said, returning her smile. As Carmelita walked past him, he grabbed her gently and pressed her against him in an embrace. “You are quite a woman, Carmelita. I’m a fortunate man to have you.”
“Si,” she said, “and I am fortunate to have you.” Then she added playfully, “So do not go and get yourself killed, not now that things are so good between us.”
“I won�
��t,” he said, holding her, feeling the warmth of her. “You have my word on it.”
At the edge of the curtains, Angel Andrews stepped up beside Suzzette and looked out with her. Then she looked at the hurt in Suzzette’s eyes and said softly as she drew her away from the window, “Come away from there, Suzzette, it isn’t polite to stare.”
“Yes, I know,” Suzzette said softly, turning away from the sight of Dawson and Carmelita embracing. “Carmelita has been too kind to us. So has Crayton. I’m going to play straight with them.” She looked away for a second in contemplation, then she said, “But I can’t stay here.” She turned back to Angel Andrews and said, “The stagecoach to Eagle Pass runs along the Old Spanish Trail every other day this time of year. I saw it headed north on our way home from the Double D, didn’t you?”
“I saw a stagecoach,” said Angel, sounding uncertain, “but I don’t know where it was headed.”
“That’s the one, it’s the Eagle Pass stagecoach,” said Suzzette, being patient with her. “I’m going to rest up tonight and tomorrow. Day after tomorrow I’m going to the Spanish Trail, stop the stage, and get on it. I’ll take it to Eagle Pass, then take a cattle train to Missouri if I have to. Do you want to come with me?”
“Will—Will it be all right with your aunt, me coming along with you?”
“Yes,” said Suzzette, “don’t worry about my aunt. Do you want to come with me or not? It’s a chance for you to get out of this kind of life before you get in any deeper.”
“Yes, I’ll go with you!” Angel added in a tone of desperation, “I’ll go anywhere you say. I don’t want to be a whore any longer. It’s not the way I thought it would be.” She swayed forward into Suzzette’s arms and began sobbing quietly on her bosom.
“Don’t cry. We’ll be all right, Angel,” Suzzette whispered, comforting her. We’ll find work in Missouri…you can help me raise this baby. Everything will be fine, you’ll see.”
The morning the next stagecoach for Eagle Pass left Somos Santos, Sheriff Lematte stood out front of the Silver Seven Saloon puffing his first cigar of the morning. Beside him, Karl Nolly said, “Sheriff, take a look at this.”
Lematte looked up and saw Henry Snead walk stiffly from between two buildings with his gun belt hanging over his shoulder and get on the stage. “Yeah, I see him,” said Lematte. “The punk has been laid up in a room behind the barbershop, licking his wounds. Hogo learned that he sold his horse, saddle, rifle, and all so he could buy a stage ticket out of town. He was too sore to ride a horse!” He chuckled and added, “The poor, sorry bastard.”
“He took one hell of a beating, that’s for sure,” said Nolly, staring toward the stage intently.
“Hogo spoke to him,” said Lematte. “He had the nerve to ask Hogo if he thought I would give him his badge back if he came and talked to me about it?” Lematte shrugged. “Wanted to apologize I suppose.”
“What did you tell Hogo to tell him?” Nolly asked.
“You’ll love this!” Lematte laughed aloud. “I had Hogo tell him he’d be wasting his time talking to me, unless he brought me Crayton Dawson’s head on the end of a stick!”
Nolly laughed. “You’re right, Sheriff, that’s a good one! I bet this punk would wet himself if he ever ran into Dawson again.”
“Yeah, that’s what I figure too,” said Lematte. “I just said it to let him know he was washed up with me. I wouldn’t give him his badge back if he killed Dawson and made him into breakfast sausage!”
Inside the stage, Henry Snead looked out the small window and saw Lematte and Nolly laughing on the boardwalk. He felt the back of his neck burn in humiliation, knowing they were laughing at him. “Sons of bitches,” he said to himself, still feeling sore from the beating Dawson had given him. He reached inside his shirt, took out a bottle of rye, and had himself a long drink. Then he gauged the contents of the bottle before capping it and putting it back. Leaning out the opposite window of the stage, he called up to the driver, who sat with one boot raised and resting on the brake handle, “Hey! Driver! How long before we pull out of this shit hole?”
“Watch your language down there, young fellow,” the driver said.
“Why?” said Snead. “There’s nobody else here! I could curse to the top of my lungs, so what? Nobody would hear it!”
“I’d hear it,” said the old driver firmly, “so pipe down and relax.”
“How much longer before we leave?” Snead asked.
“I’m waiting for a shotgun rider,” said the driver. “If he doesn’t get here in a couple more minutes, I’m leaving without him. He’s getting over a snakebite. Some days he ain’t fit to do his job.” The driver spit a stream of tobacco juice, then added, “Not that I need a shotgun driver. Nothing ever happens on the Eagle Pass turnaround.”
“Then forget about him, let’s go,” said Snead.
“You sit still, Mister,” the driver said. “We’ll leave when I say we leave.”
Snead grumbled under his breath and took the bottle from inside his shirt again. He opened it roughly and sloshed the whiskey around. “I can see this is going to be a long, hard trip,” he said to himself, raising the bottle to his lips.
Chapter 22
Two days of rest and recuperation had Suzzette feeling better than she had in a long time. Before daylight she and Angel Andrews had slipped quietly out of bed and gathered their belongings while Dawson and Carmelita slept in the master bedroom at the other side of the house. Before leaving the house and heading to the barn, Suzzette crept into their room and laid a folded note on a table near the door. She lingered for a moment, looking at the sleeping couple. Then she sighed silently and walked away.
“I don’t know why we’re having to sneak away,” Angel whispered as the two walked out to the barn in a soft circle of light from a lamp Suzzette held above them.
“It’s not that we have to sneak away, Angel,” said Suzzette. “It’s just that sometimes it’s better to leave this way. I thanked both of them in the note I left. I just don’t feel like talking about things anymore, do you?”
“Well, no, I suppose not,” said Angel, sticking close beside her as the two of them went inside the barn and readied the team of buckboard horses for the trail.
“Make sure you get these horses rigged on right,” said Suzzette. “It’s ten miles to where we’re going to meet the stage.”
“I’m not good at this,” said Angel, fumbling with the horses’ traces and tangling them.
“Here, let me have those,” said Suzzette. I’ll take care of the horses. You just climb up in the seat and hold the lamp for me.”
When the buckboard was ready, Suzzette eased the horses forward as quietly as she could. Once out of the barn and up on the trail, she slapped the traces briskly and soon had the wagon moving along at a quick, steady pace. The rough ride caused Angel to press her hat down on her head and hold on firmly with her other hand. “Suzzette, slow down! If the stage runs all along the Old Spanish Trail, can’t we catch it anywhere?”
“Yes,” said Suzzette, “but I want to put some distance between me and them.”
“But why?” asked Angel, having difficulty hanging on. “I thought everything is all right with Carmelita and Crayton and you.”
“It is, Angel,” said Suzzette, not wanting to explain herself right then. “We’ll talk more about it someday…but not now, all right?”
“All right,” said Angel, “but please slow down! If not for me, then at least think about your baby!”
Suzzette didn’t reply, but she did let the horses slow down until the wagon settled a bit. “Well, thank goodness!” Angel remarked.
Suzzette kept the wagon at a slower pace as the horses climbed steadily upward along a switchback trail. When the land flattened onto a higher plateau atop a line of cliffs and deep canyons, Suzzette sped the horses up until they reached a place in the trail where the stagecoach would have to also slow down as it crested the hills. There she stopped the wagon and visored her hand across
her forehead, looking out through the morning sunlight for the stagecoach on the stretch of flatland two hundred feet below. Her eyes followed the snaking trail toward Somos Santos and found a dot on the horizon with a rise of dust drifting above it. “Good,” she said, gazing out into the distance, “All we’ve got to do now is wait.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes watching the dot until it took on the shape of a stagecoach and six horses pounding along the trail. “Once I get to Missouri, I’m never going to do something like this again,” Angel said, as if she’d been in silent contemplation.
“Me neither,” said Suzzette, without taking her eyes off the approaching stage.
“Do you want a boy or a girl?” Angel asked.
“What?” Suzzette asked.
“You know…your baby,” Angel said. “Do you want a boy or a girl?”
“Oh, a boy, of course,” said Suzzette. “A girl doesn’t stand a chance in this world. Only a fool would want to bring a girl child into this world.”
Suzzette’s answer silenced Angel. They sat watching the stage until it disappeared beneath them and started its climb upward along the trail. “Let’s get ready,” said Suzzette, edging the wagon forward until it blocked the trail, giving the stage plenty of time to see it and slow to a stop. “Once he stops for us I’ll pull the wagon over beneath those trees and leave it where Crayton and Carmelita will see it when they come for it.”
Another ten minutes passed before the stage appeared on the trail, headed toward them. Upon spotting the wagon fifty yards ahead, the driver pulled back on the traces and the brake at the same time, bringing the stage to a gradual halt a few feet away. The driver saw the two women stand up facing him, but he looked all around warily, making sure this wasn’t a trick of some sort. From the window beneath the driver’s seat, Henry Snead called up to him, his voice a bit thick from whiskey-swollen lips, “What are you stopping for?”
