EDGE: Savage Dawn (Edge series Book 26)
Page 13
‘What, feller?’
There was no pain on the handsome face of the Boston dude. Just an odd mixture of foolishness and puzzlement. ‘I know it’s stupid, but it’s been bothering me. How come a priest of the church of Rome has a kid?’
‘Same way other men get them.’
‘But they aren’t supposed to marry.’ His voice was getting weaker.
‘He never did.’
‘Yet he’s still a priest?’
‘The Pope ain’t never been here to San Parral, feller. And the local people are willing to overlook the breaking of two Commandments.’
‘Two?’
‘He committed adultery with his neighbor’s wife. Way I heard it, the woman knifed the man and then died in childbirth.’
‘Neat,’ Parker murmured.
‘It happens.’
‘Thanks, Captain.’
‘It was nothing.’
‘But I die a little happier. Makes me better off than you, I’d say.’
He managed to spread a wan smile across his bloodied face as he closed his eyes and sighed his final breath.
Edge turned away. From the corpses of Parker and Isabella. And from the staring eyes, on the verge of spilling tears, of the priest, the mayor, the liveryman and the young boy. And felt something now—a need to be unconcerned that none of the sorrow was for him. After three months in this place, it mattered.
‘I’m sorry, Edge!’ Al Gibbon croaked, making to step out of the house where he had sought cover. Then pulling back to stay on the threshold as the bleak eyes of the half-breed swung towards him. But the Winchester remained canted to the broad shoulder. ‘I had to do like they said. They’d have killed me otherwise. The rest of them took off, honest.’
Edge halted only briefly, then moved on along the street towards the plaza, angling to go around the three dead bandits crumpled in the dust.
‘Oh, my God!’ the fat man shrieked.
Edge halted again and this time turned to look back down the street. A crowd had gathered around the body of Isabella Montez. Perhaps there was sorrow in their hearts, but their voices were harsh with anger. Father Vega was waving his arms frantically as he tried to calm the villagers. But he was losing their attention as they turned away from him: first to look down the street. Then to move.
Julio Melendez was in the forefront. Flanked by Francisco Sorrano and Cirilo Banales. There were at least a dozen men and women tracking them closely.
‘It’s me they’re comin’ for!’ Gibbon wailed, wrenched his terrified gaze away from the advancing Mexicans to fix his eyes on the lean, dark-skinned face of the impassive half-breed. ‘They’ll kill me!’ He saw there would be no help from Edge. His eyes swept here and there and he realized escape was impossible. ‘They emptied my gun of shells,’ he groaned to anyone who cared to listen. Then spotted Jack Burton standing at the curve of the street. The pale faced, squint-eyed bounty-hunter was watching the scene with an easy grin on his lips. Perhaps contemplating money on which there would be no split. ‘Jack!’ Gibbon yelled.
‘Seems Jack’s all right, feller,’ Edge said evenly.
The fear-filled eyes returned to the face of the half-breed. The fat man sobbed and tears coursed down from the corners of the eyes. ‘But they’ll kill me,’ he said again, hopelessly.
‘So goodbye,’ Edge muttered, eyes glinting and white teeth shining between curled back lips. With a dirt-grimed forefinger he made the mark of a cross against the heavily bristled side of his face. ‘I already gave you a kiss on the cheek.’
Chapter Twelve
THEY shot the fat bounty hunter while Edge was cinching Tim Parker’s saddle to the back of a gelding in the livery stable. At least six rifles were fired, at the command of Julio Melendez’s Apache woman, to silence Gibbon’s shrieking apologies.
And when the half-breed rode the gelding out of the stable the man was just a sagging replica of a human form held fast to the trunk of the shaded tree by taut circles of rope.
The plaza was deserted again, as the executioners and witnesses moved back towards the wreckage of the Federale post.
The body of Isabella Montez had been moved into the church. Those of the bandits and the remains of Tim Parker had been left where they had fallen, in the dust under the intensifying heat of the morning sun.
‘Why worthwhile, Señor Edge?’ Jesus Vega asked, emerging from his house beside the church as Edge rode slowly by.
The half-breed was looking back over his shoulder, even though it was not now possible to see into the church where the serape-draped body of Isabella lay in the aisle.
‘What did you say, kid?’
‘You said it was worthwhile for so many people to die.’
The boy fell in beside the horse and rider. His solemn eyes pleaded to hear words he might understand.
‘Saw people die for this village before I got here, Jesus,’ Edge told him. ‘If they had to die, it was a good enough reason for them. When your pa and the rest of the folks get the time to think about it, maybe they’ll figure the ones that died today had a good reason. Nothing that’s any good is for nothing.’
‘You have nothing, señor,’ the boy countered perceptively.
Edge curled back his lips in a grin as they reached the gates of the wrecked Federale post.
‘I sure don’t have a revolver or a hat.’
‘I get them.’
He ran between the leaning gates. Beyond them, the dead were being draped with covers and the wounded were being tended.
Father Vega stepped outside. ‘You are leaving San Parral?’ His voice was as deeply melancholic as his expression. There were bloodstains on his cassock and on his hands. ‘The people will miss you. Later.’
‘The thought might help to keep me warm on cold nights,’ Edge answered evenly.
‘You have reason to be bitter,’ the priest allowed with a nod. ‘I am bitter. Not against you for what you did. Who is to say it was for the best or not? But I will find it hard to pray for those who took life in cold blood. Relishing the act of expunging their own guilt. That man was no more responsible for the death of Isabella Montez than you ... or I.’
‘God’s will, padre?’ Edge asked.
The priest chose not to accept it as a question. ‘As is everything in the universe, my son.’
He made the sign of the cross and turned to go back into the post, ignoring the boy who came out. Jesus carried a Remington and a sombrero.
‘It is the only hat I could find without blood on it, Señor Edge. And I have loaded the gun—in the way that you showed us.’
‘Obliged,’ the half-breed said, sombrero on his head.
‘You look not at all like an American now,’ Jesus said, his solemn eyes scanning Edge from sombrero to boots and back again. ‘What do you feel like, señor?’
‘Taking a ride.’
He heeled the gelding forward.
‘Adios,’ the boy called after him. ‘I will pray I will be like you when I am a man.’
Edge did not turn around in the saddle. Merely raised his hand briefly in farewell. And muttered: ‘In this world, kid, it ain’t necessary to invite trouble.’
He rode slowly, but the blazing sun crawling up the eastern dome of the sky quickly created a heat haze to veil the village behind him. It was noon when he reached the north end of the valley, and the rider coming towards him was close enough to be recognized as a woman. Plain-faced, about thirty, sitting her mount side-saddle and with a bulky carpet bag hung from the horn. An American, who viewed the bristled, sweat-run, blood-stained face of Edge with rising anxiety.
‘Good morning,’ she greeted with a tremor in her voice, as they halted their horses alongside each other. She tried a brittle smile.
Edge touched the brim of his hat and it seemed to ease her mind. ‘Everyone’s entitled to their own opinions,’ he replied flatly.
She struggled to keep the smile in place. ‘I wonder if you can help me. I’m looking for a man.’
‘This a
in’t the place to do that right now,’ he told her.
She tried a trill laugh at the sour-voiced joke. ‘No, a particular man. His name is Alvin Gibbon. He left a message for me at the ... the...’
‘Prison,’ Edge filled in for her.
There was suddenly no effort behind her bright smile. ‘You know him? He spoke of me? Dorrie Ford. He had to leave Texas before I ... I got out. Is it far to where he is?’
‘Not far.’
‘Did he say he’d wait for me?’
‘He’ll wait.’
‘Then I’m in luck?’ She was staring down the trail, her happily gleaming eyes trying to penetrate the slick heat shimmer.
‘Of a kind, ma’am.’
‘What do you mean?’ She snapped her head around to stare into his disheveled face. The first stirrings of fear sapped the happiness from her eyes.
‘I mean you’ll find a yellow Gibbon tied to the old oak tree.’
Other titles in the EDGE series from Lobo Publications
#1 The Loner
#2 Ten Grand
#3 Apache Death
#4 Killer’s Breed
#5 Blood On Silver
#6 The Blue, The Grey And The Red
#7 California Kill
#8 Seven Out Of Hell
#9 Bloody Summer
#10 Vengeance Is Black
#11 Sioux Uprising
#12 The Biggest Bounty
#13 A Town Called Hate
#14 Blood Run
#15 The Big Gold
#16 The Final Shot
#17 The Final Shot
#18 Ten Tombstones To Texas
#19 Ashes And Dust
#20 Sullivan’s Law
#21 Rhapsody In Red
#22 Slaughter Road
#23 Echoes Of War
#24The Day Democracy Died
#25The Violence Trail
#26Savage Dawn
And More to Come…
Also From, Best Selling Author, George G. Gilmlan…