by Sara Orwig
Table of Contents
Denver
Copyright
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Denver
Sara Orwig
Copyright
Diversion Books
A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.
443 Park Avenue South, Suite 1008
New York, NY 10016
www.DiversionBooks.com
Copyright © 1990 by Sara Orwig
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
For more information, email [email protected]
First Diversion Books edition November 2014
ISBN: 978-1-62681-484-4
More from Sara Orwig
Civil War Saga
New Orleans
Memphis
Atlanta
Southwest Saga
San Antonio
Albuquerque
Denver
Heat Wave
Oregon Brown
The Goodies Case
To Bernadine and Lisa Rhoades
with many thanks for answering questions.
1
California, October 1866
Below a precipice on a rugged, windswept coast lay a winding trail where a coach was canted at an angle. Men worked on a broken wheel while the passengers huddled on the grass or meandered around the stage.
Above them on the bluff, Tigre Danby Castillo sat on his horse. It would be so easy to take what he wanted. The stage was loaded with trunks and boxes, and a man had been riding shotgun, an indication of something valuable on board. But Tigre could clearly recall his promise to Melissa Hatfield that he would never again take what wasn’t rightfully his. While Melissa’s brown eyes and rosy lips danced in his memory, he tugged the reins, turning the horse down the slope away from the coach.
He had to find work, a means of income, yet every town he stopped in, he felt as if someone would arrest him at any moment. He was out of New Mexico Territory, safe from the law, but bounty hunters didn’t observe boundaries and a reward had been offered for him, dead or alive. As he rode, he pulled out his knife and cut loose his bear-claw necklace, letting it fall to the ground. He removed his broad-brimmed hat, and the wind tangled his golden hair while he extracted three long eagle feathers from his hatband and let them blow in the breeze.
He slipped his feet out of the stirrups and removed his silver spurs, giving them a toss as he rode on. His beard and mustache were gone, his hair cut short. He had sold one six-shooter a week earlier and now wore only one. He had worked in New Mexico Territory at a livery stable, but he had quit as soon as he had collected his wages.
Wages. They were skimpy compared to clearing out a bank vault, but he had given that up forever. He shifted in the saddle, coming down the winding trail to meander along the ocean’s edge.
He rode into a town that night, stopping at a saloon and tying his horse to the hitching rail. Inside he had a drink, watched the action, and finally got into a game of faro. In an hour he had won enough to sustain him for a few days, so he bought one more drink and left. He mounted up with a creak of leather and ambled through town and out, feeling a forlorn longing as he left the lights and music and people. He ached for Melissa, thinking about her constantly, hoping she was happy. His thoughts were so wrapped up in Melissa that he barely heard the jingle of a harness. He listened, turning in the saddle. He couldn’t spot anyone moving in the dark behind him, but he knew someone was following him.
Tigre tried to determine how many riders there were, and where they were coming from. He decided it was a lone rider, and he scanned the land ahead. He was riding uphill, away from the ocean and shoreline. It was rocky, filled with trees, and he couldn’t make a run to get away.
He rode far into the night until he was satisfied he had lost the person. Weary, he finally paused beside a creek and dismounted. He splashed water on his face, wiped his hands on his trousers, then gathered up his reins as he started to mount. He heard a jingle of spurs and the click of a hammer. A man with a revolver stepped into view across the creek in front of him.
“Hold it right there, mister. You’re a wanted man and I aim to get my reward.” He gave a long, low whistle. “My partner’s behind you. We’ve been closing in on you for hours now. We’re going to mount up and ride back to the Territory to collect our reward, and I don’t care whether we bring you in dead or alive.”
Five days later Tigre and his captors rode into the wide-open expanse of the western boundary of New Mexico Territory. As the sun slanted behind them in the west, they halted close beside a sloping hogback.
“Let’s make camp before we’re out where we don’t have any shelter,” the man called Gus said.
He dismounted and looked up at Tigre, who gazed back with smoldering blue eyes. “Get down,” Gus ordered.
With his hands tied behind his back, Tigre threw his leg over the horse and dropped to the ground. Gus swung his fist, dealing Tigre a swift blow that sent him sprawling.
“Stay right there, renegade. We’re going to go get some grub.”
By the time their fire burned low, the two bounty hunters sat eating, their roasting rabbit sending forth an aroma that made Tigre’s stomach grind with hunger. While the two men talked and ate, Tigre heard hoofbeats. He tried to decide whether it would be to his advantage to keep quiet or warn Gus and Snake, Gus’s shorter, wiry friend.
It could be a traveler who might come to his aid—or a renegade who would try to kill them all. Tigre decided he didn’t have much to lose. “When are you going to feed me?” he yelled, to warn the approaching stranger of the situation.
Startled, both men looked up. Tigre yelled again. “Untie me and let me eat, you sons of bitches!”
“Shut up!” Gus snapped, getting to his feet and striding to Tigre to slap him. The sound was a sharp crack that sent Tigre sprawling, his yellow hair falling over his eyes.
As Gus sat back down, the sound of the approaching horse had ceased. Tense, Tigre waited. He glanced over his shoulder into the murky gloom on the fringes of light from the campfire. The hairs on the nape of his neck seemed to crawl as he looked at a ghostly apparition. High on a projecting rock stood a man, but he didn’t look like any man Tigre had ever known. His skin was pale and he had light eyes and white hair, a young face, and white clothes. He turned to look at Tigre, and Tigre stared back. The man drew two glistening silver six-shooters and held them out, pulling back the hammers.
“Don’t move,” he ordered in a raspy voice that was as eerie as his appearance.
Both Gus and Snake leapt to their feet. They froze, seeing the muzzles of two pistols aimed at them.
“Holy hell,” Gus breathed, while Snake stared with slack-jawed awe at the man standing on a rock. A chill ran down Tigre’s spine.
“Mister, what the hell?” Gus asked. His voice had lost all its force. “We’re law-abiding citizens,” he added.
“Is that right? Who’s he?” the
stranger inquired, jerking his head toward Tigre.
“He’s a murderer,” Snake said swiftly, his quavering voice filled with fear.
“We’re taking him in,” Gus added. “We’re lawmen.”
“No, they’re not,” Tigre snapped. “They’re bounty hunters and they plan to kill me before they turn me in.”
“He’s lying. He’s a murderer and a thief. Here’s a poster.”
“Forget the poster!” the man commanded, coming down off the rock with a jingle of spurs. “Keep your hands reaching for stars.” He looked at Tigre. “Stand up and come over here. I’ll cut you loose.”
“Mister, you’re making a hell of a mistake,” Gus said. “He’ll slit your throat. He’s wanted for crimes all over the Territory.”
“That true?”
“The wanted part is,” Tigre answered frankly. “The other isn’t. I won’t slit your throat. I killed a man long ago, but only to keep him from killing me.” Tigre moved closer and turned his back.
“Drop your six-shooters,” the stranger ordered. As soon as Gus and Snake obeyed him, he waved a revolver at them. “Face the other way. Get on your bellies, hands behind your necks.”
“Mister, you’re going to regret this,” Gus said again as he stretched out on the ground. Ignoring him, the man cut Tigre’s bonds. “Get your horse.”
Tigre needed no urging. He snatched up his own six-shooter and mounted his horse, turning to see the other man gather up the revolvers. “Get their horses.”
Tigre gathered the reins to the other two horses and took off after the stranger, galloping away from the bounty hunters, turning to the north.
When they finally slowed to a walk, the moonlight was bright. Tigre extended his hand. “Thanks, mister. I was a dead man for sure if you hadn’t shown up. I’m Tigre Castillo.”
“Silas Eustice. Here,” he said, offering Tigre a strip of jerky.
“Thanks. I haven’t eaten for two days.”
“I figured they were starving you.”
“Where are you headed?”
“Northern California, up into gold country. I’m looking for the mother lode. I panned in the Clear Creek strike in Colorado Territory, and I aim to get more.”
“You from Texas?”
“No. Colorado Territory. I’ve been in Kansas City, Missouri, taking my aunt to live with other relatives. Where you headed?”
“Anywhere out of the Territory. I’m wanted here. My pa was a sheepman. Cattlemen tried to drive him off the land, and we fought them for years. I was young when one tried to kill me. I killed him instead, and a posse tried to hang me the same day without a trial. Pa and his friends got me free, and I’ve been on the run since. Thanks for coming to my rescue.”
“Sure. I probably scared them. I’m so white, and my voice has been this raspy since I was twelve years old. Sort of sets women off.”
Tigre glanced at him in the moonlight and saw that his features were pleasant, with a straight nose, a firm jaw, a broad forehead, a wide, square face. “I wouldn’t think it would set them off too badly.”
Silas grinned. “Most of them don’t mind too much. Kind of draws some. Besides, there’s a special one in my life now. That’s why I’m here. I want gold to take home to Denver. Ever been to Denver in Colorado Territory?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Going to see the elephant brings droves of people.”
“What elephant?”
Silas laughed. “It’s a saying. People pass through, saying they’re going to see the elephant, to see what all the fuss is about out west. Some enterprising men in Denver named their corral the Elephant Corral. Men parked their buggies and wagons there. It expanded to a store and saloon. Anyway, Denver draws people. The air is clear and fresh, the summers are warm, and in winter the snows come.”
“That’s like home,” Tigre said, and couldn’t keep the sound of longing out of his voice. “I lived in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.”
“You Secesh or Yankee Doodle?”
“I was too young and too far west in the mountains for either, but my half-brother and my brother-in-law were Secesh. My half-brother, Luke Danby, is a lawyer in San Antonio.”
“I don’t know anything about San Antonio, but I tell you, Denver’s the best city in the whole country. When I make my fortune, I want to go home and settle. And then I’ll marry her.”
“Who?”
“Mary Katherine O’Malley, with big green eyes and hair like fire. She’s beautiful and she’s waiting for me to make my fortune and go home to her.” Even with the rasp in Eustice’s voice, Tigre heard the longing and understood how the man felt.
“You’re damned fortunate,” Tigre said bitterly, a tight knot in his chest, and Silas’ head snapped around.
“Sorry. You must have had a loss.”
“Yes, I did,” Tigre admitted in milder tones. “So where are you getting this fortune?”
“I’m trying the California gold fields.”
They rode in silence, each lost in thought while Tigre relished his freedom. By the time two more days had passed, Tigre felt he and Silas were close friends. Silas rode during the day with a bandanna high on his neck, his wide-brimmed hat pulled low, and gloves on his hands, trying to keep sheltered from the sun. They had passed through a small town and had left the extra horses behind.
They halted at a creek. “I’ve been thinking it over, and I’m going to turn back south,” Tigre said.
“Sure you don’t want to come along to Sacramento? There are riches for the pickin’, like apples off a tree.”
“No, thanks. I think I’ll ride to Texas. My ma’s there in San Antonio with my brother.”
“You’ll have to ride through Apache and Comanche land in New Mexico Territory a long time to get to Texas.”
“I’ll be careful. Thanks, Silas. I owe you my life. I heard those buzzards talking. They were letting me live because it was easier to travel that way. When we got close to the first town to where they could collect their reward, they were going to shoot me.”
“Glad you’re free. Good luck, Tigre.”
“Same to you, Silas.” They shook hands and parted, Tigre wheeling his sorrel to the southeast, Silas continuing to the northwest.
Less than two hours later, Tigre saw a cloud of dust on the horizon as a large number of riders approached. He changed direction to ride back the way he had come. Within the hour the riders drew near enough that he could see the long, flowing black hair and copper-colored chests of Apache warriors.
He retraced his journey, riding hard, knowing he had to get to a town. It was another hour before he could look over his shoulder and see the cloud of dust diminishing. When he reached the place where he had parted with Silas, he turned north, deciding to take that course out of New Mexico Territory, circling down through Indian Territory to Texas. An hour later he spotted a riderless horse ahead. When his gaze swept the land, he saw a body stretched on the ground. On closer inspection, he saw it wasn’t a white horse like Silas’ mount, but a gray. Tigre urged his horse forward and in minutes he had dismounted, walking to a man who had been beaten badly. Tigre knelt beside him, holding a flask of water to his mouth.
“Mister. Here.”
The man’s eyes fluttered.
“What happened?”
“Renegades.” His voice was a croak.
Tigre frowned and glanced around. “Did you see a pale man?”
Brown eyes gazed up at him and the man bobbed his head a fraction. “Eustice. They took him. He’s probably dead now.”
“How far ahead are they?” Tigre asked, glancing into the distance. The man’s head lolled on his arm. Scowling and swearing under his breath, Tigre tried to find a pulse. Feeling none, he took the man’s horse, mounted, and urged his own horse to a gallop.
Within a quarter of an hour he heard shouts. He rode closer and dismounted, crawling up a bluff to gaze below. The renegades were tormenting Silas, who looked near death. His arms were tied to tree branches
, his weight sagging while three men inflicted wounds.
Tigre drew his six-shooter and aimed, waiting for a moment when Silas would be in the clear. With three quick shots he picked off the outlaws before any of them had time to draw. He slid down the bluff, running to Silas. Tigre’s heart pounded in fear, because Silas was limp, hanging by his wrists. With a slash of his knife, Tigre cut him down and knelt to feel his pulse, which fluttered erratically.
“Silas! Dammit, Silas, I’m here!” Tigre shouted. “Live, man!” He ran to his horse, yanking out the flask of water to tend to Silas’ wounds. Working swiftly, he hacked down thin saplings to make a travois. That night Tigre killed two rabbits and boiled them to get some broth for the still-unconscious Silas.
The next day, when he still couldn’t rouse Silas, Tigre’s desperation grew. The sun was high overhead when he spotted smoke curling into the sky, and in a few more minutes he came over a rise to see a town. He found a woman who would rent them a room and tend Silas’ injuries. She put poultices on his wounds, telling Tigre what to feed him. During the night Tigre sat beside the bed, spooning water between Silas’ swollen lips. Tigre slept lightly, and he stirred when he heard Silas whispering his name.
“You son of a bitch, get well,” Tigre said with joy.
Silas tried to smile and failed, while Tigre grinned with relief.
It was two weeks before Silas had enough strength to mount a horse. His ribs were cracked, but no bones were broken.
“Tigre, come with me to look for gold,” he said one morning. He lolled on a sagging iron bed, his white hair tangled, his white cotton shirt rumpled.
Tigre sat in a wooden chair at a table while he counted his money. “I did all right last night.”
“You’re an absolute natural at faro. I guess you don’t need to hunt for gold.”
“I got paid yesterday too.”
“You always surprise me when you talk about that job.”
“I like building houses. I used to be good with a hammer when I helped Pa. I’m learning with Enrique. I’m almost tempted to stay right here for a time and keep on building.” He grinned, shoving a cheroot to the corner of his mouth, squinting as the smoke curled upward in front of his face. “I can see what I accomplished at the Oro Cantina too. Es muy grande.”
