by S. L. Hawke
“Who paid you?” she demanded. But the Sheriff could only gargle. “I am not patient, chevalier. Again, who paid you to do this?”
His blood was running fast Emma could see. The ruckus of arresting the other men, and the deep voice of Shaw-Jones in the distance announcing arrests, and yes, a gunshot, calmed Emma as she held her lantern aloft. She was shocked to see this giggling, tiny maid control the Sheriff’s fate with a well-made boot.
“Nobody.” He grinned in defiance then died.
“This makes no sense.” Camille hiked her skirt up as she walked away from the body to avoid the blood on the ground. Her Marshal’s star glinted off her garter.
“Maybe we should look into all the clients common to all the girls.” Emma swallowed hard. Death was not easy to witness.
“Ma Cherie, such things the madams may know, but they are paid very well to keep silent. Perhaps our Sheriff kept papers.”
“Well done.” Andrew came out of the darkness scaring them both. He gave Camille a big kiss. “Can I have my star back?” Emma rolled her eyes.
*****
Shaw-Jones broke the necks of the men when they threatened to kill him. The last one shot himself. They were Chinese dressed as western men. There were books in the abandoned farm house that showed payments from several of the town’s elite to silence the women.
The night became productive. Fergus had followed us, and seeing that we needed ‘backup’ as he referred to it, marched in and discreetly cleaned up the evidence.
“Looks like our Sheriff was being paid to silence the women. Too many babies being buried at the cemetery got the attention of a few very wealthy and important wives.”
“A greedy madam tried to blackmail one of the Knights. They killed her with an overdose of carbolic acid and then when more ‘evidence’ began appearing among the newest whores, rather than wait for the ‘evidence’ to appear nine months later and then destroy it–”
“They instead–” I followed up.
“Kill two birds with one stone.” Shaw-Jones finished the statement.
“They had a little too much fun with it, judging from the damage to the bodies.” Fergus sighed.
“No, I don’t think so.” Shaw-Jones held up jars they had found under the floor boards. Preserved in alcohol were all manner of fetuses, organs and flesh. “Specimens like these command hundreds of guineas in the right scientific circles.”
“The Sheriff was an opportunist as well,” Fergus announced with some interest. “I imagine he shipped more than just specimens.” A soldier hailed Fergus. The soldiers were inside the cemetery. At a small crypt in the very center of the cemetery they had found one of the keys on the Sheriff’s person opened the door. Inside was a small strongbox. Inside was a ledger.
“Well, gentlemen. An accounting will be very interesting.” He bade the soldier to bring a lantern closer to him.
“Well, not only did our Sheriff sell to the scientific community, he also blackmailed the locals.” Fergus chuckled. “I always enjoy a bit of thrilling reading before bed.”
I wouldn’t get much sleep tonight.
9
Harris Livery to Rodriguez Gulch
I left the cameras with Shaw-Jones who insisted on returning to the Den with all of the evidence collected in this evening’s arrest. He promised the Marshal Service a complete list of those blackmailed and payouts by morning. Fergus’ soldiers rebuilt the section of the fence damaged in the arrest to include the whore’s grave within the main grounds. Shaw-Jones insisted we do this, saying that the request came from Her Highness, but we all felt that it was the visitation of the woeful White Lady that truly wanted this fence moved. Whatever the reason, it helped make the whole arrest, the whole grisly conspiracy worth the effort.
After that, I rode back to the hotel. Andrew had, according to Sophia, stopped at the Hotel’s bar and took two large shots of Scottish whiskey and retired. Camille had as well. I hoped they had done so together, then laughed at myself.
I needed to find Emma only to learn that she had returned on her own.
I went out into the livery and looked for Lam. I was dismayed at the hour. Emma was nowhere to be found.
“How long ago did you send her home?” I said after I found him. I gave him a twenty dollar gold piece and the Austrian mare I had been riding to use for his own.
“A dragon’s tail.” A dragon’s tail was a unit of measurement using an incense in the shape of a reptile tail. Only a half hour ago. If she were on foot, maybe I could catch her. “She rode on the woodsman’s wagon back to the Villagrana Rancho.” My heart did a quick calculation, a donkey cart, going slowly on that horrible road out to the Soquel Township…
“I’m going back to the Estate.” I picked up my saddle and found my mare, well cared for in her stall. Lam stopped me.
“Be careful, A.J.…You may not be able to satisfy all tonight.”
“No, just the one,” I answered, but he was right. I didn’t exactly know where I was going or what I was hoping to find, but I could not lay idle. Not after what I had just seen.
My mare was keen to ride. The Austrian mare was grateful to be in her oats. I saddled my mare quickly, she holding still and breathing shallow so that I could cinch the saddle belt on safely. Then I mounted up as she began her canter out of the stables, ducking my head out of the way of the stable lantern.
*******
Emma listened to Old Juan sing about Coyote and the Cactus Flower as he eased his cart down the long hill towards the creek. The Soquel Road was strangely quiet tonight. Suddenly a rider came out of the darkness wearing a wide-brimmed rancher’s hat.
“Where do you go at this hour, old man?” McKenna’s voice hissed in the darkness. Emma froze.
“Home, Senor. Just home.” Old Juan’s voice quavered.
“Who is that in the back?” McKenna came to the side board of the cart. Emma trembled as she tried to cover her face with the poncho.
“My son Juan. We came from the Powder Mill.”
Emma cringed and tried to bury herself deeper amid the burned wood Old Juan had in his cart, hoping this would discourage McKenna from asking Old Juan to stop his cart and get out. How lucky she had been for so long. A.J. warned me; I should have listened.
“I heard a greaser boy stole wallets from guests while they dined with the Duchess of Russia. This greaser works for many of the families who attended. If you stole, boy, you will answer to me!”
“My son never goes anywhere I do not go, Senor. Remember when the ranch burned, we were there for the wood?”
“Then you must know who did the stealing, to be so certain.”
“Faustino Lorenzana steals, Senor. He likes stealing from the white and the rich. He works for Russian Negro slave.”
Here McKenna walked his horse closer to the cart and reached up to hit Old Juan in the face, then hesitated when he saw Emma in the back. McKenna, instead, reached the end of his rifle nose towards her poncho, so close, she could smell its recent use.
There was no escape, no place she could run. He would catch her. She’d seen him ride down others many times. What would he do to her?
*******
Riding at a full canter in the dark could be thrilling, or it could make you hope that there were no pits on the road. Luckily a few lights were still burning along the bridge that spanned the river, and Chinese, in the spirit of Asia, walked with small lanterns at their sides. I began to hear music, most likely from the adobe I was getting close to. My heart ached at the memory of fandango and the dancing I did, clumsily, enjoying the closeness of the female form, the sweat of a passionate body, but innocent in passion and the searing flame of cheeks naked against one another and perhaps a breast, or even a nipple. But never more than that, the senoras made sure. Dance, they would say, dance the passion into the floor, and know you will marry one day.
The darkness settled in completely, but the track was clear. I heard a male voice speaking to someone up ahead. I slowed. It was McKenna. Wi
th a kick, I urged my mare forward until I came upon a cart with an old man and a young one in the back. McKenna had his rifle pointed at Emma, who cowered deeply down into the refuse of wood.
“Old Juan!” I called out. “Don Juan Arana!” I cantered to the front of the mule cart and brought my horse to a stop.
“What’s your business here, Sloan?” McKenna came alongside, our horses none too fond of one another as well.
“Si! Si, Senor!” the old man answered, a tremor in his voice.
“Thank God,” I said in Castellano. “I thought I would never find you!” Then I turned my attention to McKenna and said in English. “The Sheriff’s been taken by the Marshals,” I said to him. McKenna straightened.
“Do you know why?” McKenna cantered back a step, diverted, as I had hoped by the news.
“Something about whores,” I said quietly. McKenna eyed me with deep suspicion.
“You speak like them,” he said in Gaelic.
“I get things done with the tools at hand,” I answered. Then I spoke quickly in Castellano to Old Juan: “I need to speak to your son.” I sidestepped the mare and took off my hat as I said this, remembering my manners to the elders. The old man, from what I could see of his cart lamps, was both stunned and speechless. Suddenly I heard something behind him and saw in the darkness that little something began to move off the back of the cart.
Emotion could drive us to do things we regretted. But sometimes it moved us to take risks that brought us forward. I drove my heels into my horse and galloped around the backside of the cart. Leaning over I reached down and grabbed the form by the jacket.
The cry told me I’d snagged my quarry. Lifting with all my balance and my strength I flopped my little Juan over the front of my legs. The force of it knocked the wind out of her but the thrill of having her on my horse made me also cry out in triumph.
“Father Arana,” I said in the old Castellano of Spain, “I will not harm your son but he must be made to answer to the Duchess for whatever he took from the Estate.”
“Si, I hear and obey. Juanito! Do as your master says,” the old man cried. He urged his cart forward and quickly disappeared into the sea fog-shrouded darkness.
“That boy should be my responsibility.” McKenna began to come forward, but I turned away. Distance was imperative to preserve Emma’s secrecy.
“You forget, I am their security. And this little brat–” here I spanked her backside with my hand. She let out a cry that did sound like a young man, “–must answer for himself.”
Thankfully McKenna, though disappointed, holstered his rifle and crossed his wrists over his saddle horn. “Very well. I will inquire as to what happened with the Sheriff.” He was about to leave when I hailed him (after spanking my little Juan one more time). McKenna turned.
“I’ll pay good money to have Lorenzana arrested.”
“Done.” McKenna saluted me with a finger and gratefully rode off into the darkness.
Emma squirmed to find balance so I righted her more comfortably in front of me. She held tight to me with both her arms. She was weeping.
“Thank God. It’s over,” I said quietly, closing my arms about her, knowing that right now, all I wanted was her safety. She smelled like fruit and roses. Her warmth against my chest settled me.
“Thank you for helping us. For helping those that can’t fight or find justice.” She sniffled. There was no need for me to tell her how lucky we had been this evening.
And I love you…
MacAree Ranch Ruins, Rodriguez Gulch
“We have the rest of the night. There is much to tell. I can see it in your face. Did you find out who was truly behind this?” Emma asked me.
“We found a ledger. The government will decide what to do. It’s wartime, so they will take justice in the direction that serves them best.”
“That does not sound like a good thing.” The horse ambled. We snuggled.
“In the end, it will be.”
“Shaw-Jones is quite the personae dramaticus. He found the proof we need,” I said. Something warned me to stay quiet, about seeing the White Lady as if I would disturb or create more havoc in my life. I sat up, feeling discomfort at being in the saddle. I wanted more.
“No more of this, Emma. Please. McKenna could have deeply harmed you.” My voice cracked.
Emma looked up at me in surprise. “I am grateful, A.J. I am.” She wouldn’t say anymore. Instead she reached up and caressed my face.
“Do you want to see what he did to my life?” Here she caressed my face again and said: “Marshal?”
At which point all I could say was: “Yes, Royal Highness.”
We rode up the old cart road that led to the adobe then turned deeply right, down a narrow path that crossed Rodríguez land and its Creek. The hour had moved past midnight and the fog was tinged with the glow of a moon pressing to fullness.
My mare started. I stopped at the creek for a moment. My mare suddenly dropped her head and drank, fooling me, and then she pulled at some greens. There was a strange sound.
Talking.
“I hear that sometimes, late at night,” Emma murmured. “Shaw-Jones has heard them as well. I want to go see who it is, then it disappears. Once I saw the light of a fire, and heard lots of people talking–”
“And then nothing,” I added. Already our breath was misting as if this were winter instead of a warm summer. The voices had a strange quality to them. Words drifted down.
I’m running the radar right now. Anything?
Arana Gulch has an amazing history.
A.J. Sloan, are you here with us tonight?
Emma gasped. “Did you hear that?”
The crickets began suddenly, as if they wanted to cover up what we had just heard.
“Maybe someone is camping. Fandango?” I reasoned. “Where do we go from here?”
“Why would they call your name? And why do they keep saying ‘Arana’ Gulch. This is Rodríguez Gulch,” Emma whispered and leaned forward hoping to hear more, but the strange sounds were gone.
“I don’t know.”
We pushed the horse forward up the knoll onto a flat meadow. The remains of a charred New England style home and barn with a carriage house rose up like a haunted ruin. We came to its edges. I reined in my horse and tied her under a nearby cedar.
“We are safe here,” she said. “I know this is wrong, but I want–” She touched my face. “Since we first saw each other at the stables–”
“We shouldn’t.” My voice lost strength. I did know that if she came any closer I would not be able to stop myself at all.
“What happened here?” I asked, looking at the majestic ruin, the smell of ash still strong.
“McKenna and Towne,” Emma said quietly and simply walked over towards another less charred building. The moon’s light cast a corpse-like glow over everything. I started to go towards the house when Emma stopped me.
“He broke down the door and set the house on fire. Faustino distracted him so that we could all get away, except for Liam.”
“Liam?” My mind was all images of Japan. “Faustino,” I said under my breath.
“Liam MacAree. He was my husband.”
“And Faustino? Faustino Rodríguez?”
“No. Faustino Lorenzana. The Rodríguezes are his kin.”
Now I began to see the connection Fergus had, and the connection Emma had to this odd young man. The memory of Lorenzana’s man shooting directly at Fergus echoed like those ghostly voices in my head, as if the whole scene were planned.
Was it? Impossible. How could Lorenzana have known to target us? To target me?
“You do know he is a killer.” I walked carefully among the remains of what looked like a decent garden. A deer ran off down the gulch.
“How do you know him?” Emma began to walk towards the outbuildings. I followed, knowing that if I saw Lorenzana again, I would be unable to control the rage that was building inside of me. Lorenzana orchestrated this, not McKenna, p
erhaps. I replayed the card game in my head, trying to recall if Lorenzana were simply just an extraordinary actor, or if Fergus had snared him as well. Erring on the side of caution, I lied to the woman I loved.
“He killed someone I cared about that was like a son to me. At a poker table.” This was one lie I had to keep, I kept telling myself. Despite my discovery of the ruse, Lorenzana had still tried to kill Fergus.
“What?! I don’t believe it!” Emma raised her voice, the first time I’d ever heard her do so. Now I was angry that we were caught in this horrible situation that could kill us all, at Emma’s naiveté for meddling in things beyond her means, and for dishonoring Fergus’ memory if he had been truly dead.
“Well, he did.” I walked away from her to another part of this nightmarish landscape. She followed.
“Faustino can’t do that!” she argued. “I tell you he just cannot kill for no reason.” I turned on her.
“You don’t know what you are talking about.” I spat, then turned back towards the barn.
“Then tell me, because I trust Faustino with my life. I did trust him with my life. Prove to me that I am wrong.” Emma grabbed at my arm this time, but I did not turn around. My fire for her was extinguished. Instead, I saw how foolish I was to trust her with all of this. “Perhaps you have no proof?” The taunt was too much.
“We were at a card game. His partner Vasquez pulled a gun and shot my friend, point blank in the chest.” I closed my eyes. Emma was right. Faustino didn’t pull the trigger, but he might as well have.
“You blame him for a fool’s mistake,” Emma said quietly.
“Why do you trust him? Prove that to me.” In the dark her eyes seemed to glow from within. She started to walk towards a building that was not completely burnt out. As I got closer I saw that what remained standing was wood, but treated with a strange substance that appeared to prevent it from burning. Emma found a lamp and lit it.
