Canyon Song

by Gwyneth Atlee

  “Looked like white men from their tack and clothing.” Max squirmed in his seat once more.

  Quinn suppressed the temptation to ask whether he’d been visiting those infested harlots again lately.

  He wondered if Hamby could possibly have rejoined with other members of his gang and ridden here so quickly. He wished that he could rule out the idea.

  “Maybe we’d better find them before they find us,” Quinn suggested.

  “Outnumbered the way we are, I don’t think we oughta march right in.”

  Quinn nodded. “I agree. Let’s go ahead and make camp like always, just in case they’re watching.”

  “Then you can slip back and check them out,” Max finished quickly.

  Quinn couldn’t help noticing how Max, as usual, suggested hanging back to let Quinn do the checking so he could stay at camp. He’d probably pester Anna about what she was going to make for dinner. Suppressing a grin, Quinn imagined several variations on how she might respond to Max’s “instruction”. On the whole, Max might be safer eyeballing desperados.

  “Let’s catch up with Miranda, then, and find a likely camp,” Quinn said.

  When they reunited, Quinn spoke quietly to Anna about the plan.

  “I don’t want you to go alone,” she protested. “If it’s really Hamby and his boys —”

  “— One man can go back without being spotted. Two would make an easier target, especially if someone’s already watching us.”

  “Ask Max to go this time,” she pleaded. “You’re still wounded, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “I hate to cast aspersions on my deputy, but he’d make more noise than a Bowery wake — and believe me, that’s saying something.”

  “I don’t like it,” Anna said. “What if I borrowed Max’s gun and came with you?”

  Quinn held up an index finger. “Only one of us, and if you’ll remember, I’ve been doing this a long time. It’s probably just a group of cowboys heading to their rancho. But just in case we need to leave in a hurry, don’t unpack anything we can’t afford to leave behind.”

  Within a half an hour, they stopped at a site scarred with the black ash of a previous campfire, the same bald hillock where he and Anna had stayed before. All three dismounted, and Anna retrieved a sack of fine, dry bark and other tinder she’d collected along the way. She began preparing it to start their evening fire.

  Trying to appear casual, Quinn scanned the horizon. Already, a stain of salmon to their west presaged a magnificent sunset. Something large and tan moved, something nearly as large as their horses.

  “Look at that,” he pointed out the huge animal for Anna. It was browsing on the leaves of a stunted live oak, partially hidden among the shrub-like trees that marked the chaparral.

  “An elk.” She sounded awed. “She’s beautiful.”

  The elk lifted its head, and Quinn thought of a few men he knew who hunted the animals in autumn, when the bulls had massive racks of antlers. When one hunter got lucky, half the town shared in the bounty.

  “Jesus, look at all that fresh meat.” Max started to pull his rifle from its scabbard.

  “No!” Anna argued. “We can’t use that much. Besides, she’s near to calving. Can’t you see?”

  Max looked about to argue, but Quinn interrupted.

  “You forgetting about those fellas behind us?” he asked. “We don’t want to make anybody nervous shooting.”

  The elk’s ears twitched in their direction, and it bounded off with a flash of white tail.

  Notion, finally catching sight of the fleeing animal, barked and rushed after it.

  Quinn smiled at Anna. “If he comes back dragging that thing by a hoof, you and Max cook me up a nice steak while I’m gone.”

  Ignoring the jest, Anna hugged him. “Be careful, Ryan — Quinn.”

  Quinn nodded, not missing her use of his first name.

  “I’ll be back as quick as I can. Try to act like you’re preparing to stay the night, but be ready to move fast — just in case,” he warned.

  She nodded, then cast one last, worried look at him before going back to start the evening fire.

  He stopped behind Max, who’d lifted a stirrup to make some adjustment to his saddle.

  Lowering his voice, Quinn said. “You hear shots, don’t come after me. Just get her out of here. You understand me?”

  Max peered over his shoulder. “You really care about her, don’t you?”

  Something in his voice skirted disbelief. Quinn realized Max and Anna hadn’t exactly hit it off, but for the first time, he wondered if this was something more than his deputy’s jealousy.

  “I love her,” Quinn said simply. Later, he’d have a serious talk with Max, try to settle down his feelings. But now wasn’t the time.

  Dismissing this concern, Quinn turned to leave. Notion, returning from his chase, tried to follow.

  “Could you tie him up someplace?” he called to Anna. “He might bark if he sees strangers, and I don’t want to get caught unawares.”

  Anna found a rope, and tied the dog to the base of a sturdy piñon tree.

  Quinn kissed her cheek and once more reassured her that he would be back soon. Then he started downhill, threading his way between thick clumps of evergreens that might well conceal the unknown men who traveled in their wake.

  * * *

  Anna stared at Max’s back for some time before asking, “You didn’t really see any riders, did you?”

  Max turned slowly. “What makes you say that?”

  “You were about to shoot before, and now you’re loosening the cinch on your horse’s saddle. Those are not the actions of a man concerned about the possibility of pursuit.”

  In contrast with his red hair, Max’s brows had bleached blond in the sun. Still, she saw them rise, saw the color deepen behind his myriad freckles.

  “If you’re so damned sharp, then tell me what I’m up to,” Max challenged, and as he did so, he eased back the right tail of his jacket, exposing the butt of a revolver.

  Anna’s heart beat like a dove’s wings against the cruel bars of a cage. Had he seen through her story? Clearly, this was not how a man spoke to the wife of his superior. Yet, with an effort, she strained the fear out of her voice. “I’d say you were trying to get rid of Quinn so you could put me in my place.”

  Or try to. She hoped desperately that that was all. She’d offended him this morning, and he meant to tell her his version of how a proper woman ought to act.

  “I’d say you’re very wrong,” he answered, shattering her hopes. “Maybe I just wanted to hear you sing again. Do you still sing — Annie Faith?”

  He knew! Dios mio! He knew all of it! He’d sent Quinn away so he could arrest her! Unconsciously, Anna took a backwards step. As if that one step could remove her from the crimes that she’d committed years ago.

  He advanced on her and reached out with his left hand to stroke her cheek. His right palm rested on the gun butt.

  She flinched as if his touch burned like a brand. “What is it you want?”

  He looked her over thoroughly, his gaze so slow and licentious that she wished she could bathe. “What you should have sold me years ago. But you were too good back then, like you was some sort of saloon star. Guess you don’t mind giving it to Quinn, though, when you ain’t stealin’ from him.”

  She wasn’t going to cry. She wasn’t going to beg him. Blinking back a haze that threatened to form tears, she tried to talk her way out of this. “Quinn will be back soon. We can both explain.”

  “When Quinn gets back, we won’t be here. We’re gonna take a little walk, then take care of things for my friend, Judge Cameron. Now, move.” He gestured in a direction that would take them far from Quinn’s path.

  “Quinn will kill you if he finds out you hurt me.”

  “Then we’ll just have to make sure he don’t.” His gun was out now, pointed toward her. “Go, before I get impatient.”

  Her mouth went dry, and her knees grew so weak, she
wasn’t certain they’d support her. Notion strained against his rope, his panting sounding choked. Her breathing felt no easier.

  Somehow, though, she forced her feet in the direction the elk had taken. As she walked among the lengthening shadows of the stunted trees, she noticed how the hard-packed sand refused to take her footprints. She wondered if Max would try to hide her so Quinn would never find her body. How would he explain her sudden absence?

  She had little doubt he meant to kill her, once he had taken what he wanted. If she were merely a lone woman with a criminal past, he could rape her and then bring her back to town for justice. No one would credit — much less care about — her claims of abuse, and she knew beyond the slightest doubt that Cameron would hang her quickly to keep her from exposing his illegal actions. But she hadn’t lied when she claimed that Quinn would kill Max. She knew it as well as she knew her real name.

  Suddenly, a deeper terror slashed through her fear. Max meant to kill Quinn, too! That must be why he didn’t fear him! She stumbled with the force of it and grasped a clump of prickly juniper to keep herself upright.

  Deliberately, she snapped the branch. Behind her, not fifty yards away, she heard Notion whining. The dog was little used to being left behind.

  Stubborn tears welled once more in her eyes. If Quinn didn’t loose him soon to find her, she’d be leaving both of them for good.

  * * *

  It didn’t take Quinn long to find them. The man and woman were talking so intently that they didn’t even notice him until he stepped out in front of their mounts.

  “Easy,” he said softly, not wishing to startle the horse, the mule, or the pair astride them. But Quinn had no fear for himself, for he knew Horace Singletary slightly from Copper Ridge.

  “Sheriff Ryan!” Horace said, sounding relieved to see him. “Just the man I rode out here to see.”

  “You were following us?” Quinn asked.

  It was hard to believe Max mistook these two for a half a dozen or so men. He hadn’t noticed the smell of liquor on his deputy’s breath today. Again, he thought how something about Max’s behavior didn’t quite set right with him. They’d have to talk as soon as possible.

  “There’s been a murder!” the woman blurted.

  For the first time, Quinn focused his attention on her. A pretty, petite woman, her brown eyes glittered bright with purpose. Her dark brown hair might be disheveled, but her clothes appeared to be of far finer stuff than the calicos most white women around here wore.

  “Who’s been killed?” he asked quickly.

  “Miss Rathbone, my chaperon. She accompanied me here on my trip west to marry the judge. Since the wedding’s over, she was to leave for home today.”

  Cameron had gotten married? He pitied the poor girl.

  “Why didn’t you go to your husband for help? Is he away?”

  She nodded rapidly. “He left for Broken Fork this morning for a trial. And then Miss Rathbone was poisoned!”

  “Poisoned? Are you sure? Who would want to hurt this lady?”

  “Elena — the judge’s housekeeper. She’s been — involved with Mr. Cameron, and she meant to kill me. But I ran when I realized —”

  “— Please, Lucy,” Horace interrupted, using his bandaged hand to gently still her fluttering arms. “I know this is important, but there’s something else I must speak with Mr. Ryan about first. I came here for another urgent reason, Sheriff. Where’s the woman who was with you? I think her name is Annie Faith.”

  Ryan felt fear grip his guts. How would Horace Singletary know Anna at all, much less by that name?

  “You left her alone with your deputy?” Horace continued, obviously upset.

  The fear tightened its hold, and he asked, “Why?”

  “I overheard Max talking with Cameron this morning. He means to kill her, Quinn.”

  Involuntarily, Quinn’s head turned toward the bald hillock. He was too far away to see it through the maze of trees, but he strained his ears to try to hear raised voices or the barking of the dog.

  In the fading light, a few branches stirred with the light breeze. The only sounds that carried were those of birds and insects, crying to the bright orange half-disk of the setting sun.

  Quinn didn’t stop to ask Horace for proof of what he said or details. Instinctively, the story fell in place with his misgivings. Somehow, Cameron must have learned Anna was in town and bribed Max to solve his problems. Once Anna was killed, would Max murder him, too, to keep his place as sheriff, to reclaim his little house? Sweet Jesus, was he being betrayed for a dented tin star and a leaky roof?

  Ignoring Horace and Cameron’s wife, Quinn spun on his heel and started uphill at a dead run.

  * * *

  “That’s far enough,” Max told her. “Now turn around.”

  She did so slowly, gorge rising in her throat. Above them, she saw the first faint stars of evening. Must they also be her last? Hating her weakness, she tried to will the flow of strength into her limbs so she would not simply crumple at his feet.

  “You don’t even remember, do you?” Max’s mouth curled into a sneer. “You turned your damn nose up at my money like it wasn’t worth a thing.”

  A rush of temper loosened Anna’s tongue. “Don’t pretend that you’d think better of me if I were a soiled dove! No, I don’t remember you, but I’ve met a hundred men like you. I’ve seen the marks you leave on those poor women. I’ve heard the way you speak of them as if they’re something less than human. If I’d slept with you then, you’d be calling me a whore and feeling even more entitled.”

  Despite his raised revolver, she stepped closer. Why not tell him exactly how she felt? He meant to murder her anyway, and if she had to join her daughter, she’d just as soon cross over without first suffering the pain of rape.

  For a split second a fleeting image of Ned Hamby’s face froze her feet and stopped her. But this was not the outlaw. This bastard was paid to uphold the law!

  “Take off your clothes — now,” Max ordered, cocking back the hammer on his pistol.

  The thought that he would demand this, then kill both her and Quinn, made Anna so angry that whatever control she had left burned off in a flash. She thought of how ineffectual she’d been against Ned Hamby. This time, she had no gun to drop, no surge of song to flood her mind with bitter memories. If she had to die here, she might as well do something more useful than emptying her stomach at his feet.

  With a shout of outrage she sprang at Max. Her left wrist thrust beneath the barrel and forced it slightly upward.

  Almost against her ear, the shot exploded. She felt the heat of burning powder, and she fought toward Max’s face. Clawing for his eyes, she continued screaming, more out of fury than the hope that Quinn would hear her in time to be of help.

  Though he outweighed Anna by some fifty pounds, Max fell back against her onslaught. Desperately trying to save his eyes, he tried to shield them with his forearms. The revolver made a poor shield, but he couldn’t put it to better use without risking his vision.

  Anna didn’t dare relent. She didn’t dare let him escape to shoot her. Though she’d never fought before, she wasn’t hampered by the same rules that most men respected. Here, survival was the only rule — and the chance of saving Quinn’s life, too. She gouged with her short nails, tore at Max’s hair, then slammed the heel of her hand into his teeth.

  * * *

  Drawn by the gunshot, Quinn rushed toward the pair. As he pounded closer, Max, who’d been scrabbling backward to put distance between himself and Anna, fell heavily, tripped by a twisted stump.

  Anna tottered, but kept her balance, then kicked hard at something. Reaching her side, Quinn saw that it had been Max’s revolver, which now lay out of reach.

  Max struggled toward his feet, his face barely recognizable, a scarlet mask crosshatched with deep gouges. He didn’t seem to see Quinn, probably couldn’t see much at all for all the bleeding near his eyes. He howled in pain and anger and swung his arms in the dire
ction where he guessed Anna stood.

  Panting hard, Anna leapt out of reach.

  Quinn cocked his revolver and warned his deputy. “Don’t move, or I’ll shoot.”

  God, how he would love to shoot! His pulse whooshed in his ears, nearly drowning out everything but his relief — and growing rage. The barrel of his pistol shook, and he chastised himself for his lack of professional composure. But how could he possibly remain detached when his own damned deputy had tried to hurt, probably even kill, Anna?

  “The bitch attacked me!” Max screamed. “God, my eye! She got my eye!”

  Quinn switched his gun to his left hand, and use the right to punch him in the jaw. Max lost his newfound footing and landed on his rear.

  “Are you hurt?” Quinn asked Anna over Max’s wailing.

  She looked surprised, then put her hand to her left ear. Cupping it, she asked, “What did you say?”

  “Shut up, Max, or I’ll put out your other eye,” Quinn ordered, rubbing at his knuckles. When the deputy’s shouts subsided into moaning, he repeated his question.

  Anna nodded. “I’ll be fine. It’s just that he shot so close to this ear, I can’t hear out of it.”

  Quinn looked at his deputy. In an attempt to calm her, he offered a weak jest. “It’s almost Biblical. ‘An eye for an ear.’”

  Anna’s smile was feeble. “You’re the king of misquotes, Ryan.”

  “You’re listening to her?” Max screamed, using his sleeve to wipe at his bloody face. “She’s a wanted woman — and a lunatic as well.”

  He wiggled a front tooth and saw it come out in his hand. “Look at this! She knocked out my goddamn tooth!”

  “He was going to ‘take care of me’ for Cameron,” Anna told Quinn, “after he raped me first.”

  “You son of a bitch!” Quinn holstered his gun and reached for Max’s collar. He raised his fist to strike, but Anna’s protest stopped him.

  “Don’t!” she shouted and grasped his wrist with both hands. He glanced at her face. Though it was pale with fear, no bruises marred her features. If not for that detail, he knew he would have beaten Max into the ground.

  He let go of his deputy, who once more sat down hard. A moment later, two riders appeared. Anna glanced up at them, then looked to Quinn.