Death Comes

by Sue Hallgarth

  “Heard something about that from Doc Martin yesterday.” The sheriff tilted his chair on its hind legs. “Said he taped you up and told you to stay in bed. That about right?”

  “I’m out of bed now.” Agent Dan took a step forward.

  “So I see.” The sheriff eased his chair back to the floor.

  “Red River?” John Dunn removed the cigar stub from below his mustache. “Been thinking about going there myself tomorrow.”

  “What do you think you’re going to do there?” the sheriff interrupted, looking hard at Agent Dan.

  “God damn Harvey tourist cars going all over the place these days.” John Dunn uncrossed his legs and turned to look at the federal agent.

  “Beg your pardon?” Agent Dan turned to Dunn.

  “Heard they were even in Red River. Not civilized enough for them there,” Dunn shook his head. “I was just telling the sheriff here he ought to check into it. Might be dangerous, tourists and all.” Dunn returned the cigar stub to his mustache and took a minute to study Agent Dan from his boots to his hat before finishing his thought. “Might be dangerous for you, too.”

  “Yes, well,” the sheriff intervened. “No reason you shouldn’t go, I suppose. You’re not a tourist.”

  “Right,” Agent Dan responded. “Just letting you know. Soon as we gas up, I’m going.” Agent Dan turned on his heel and nodded in the direction of John Dunn. Tony and Spud brushed past Emilio on the way out.

  The drive to Red River was longer and more difficult than Edith expected, but it was also breathtakingly beautiful. Once they reached Questa and turned east toward Red River, the river itself rushed alongside, glinting in the sun and tumbling over mineral-laden rocks. The higher they rose, increasing numbers of ponderosas and aspens danced in the breezes and sheer cliffs towered above. Mabel’s car protested the climb and the roughness of a road pitted and rutted by huge trucks hauling mining equipment and ore. Many of the early gold, silver, and copper mines around Red River and Elizabethtown were already played out, but a molybdenite mine had recently roared into business in Sulphur Gulch and created chaos on the only road.

  Massive trucks flew past on their way down the mountain, spewing gravel and dust, but Mabel pushed on. “That idiotic congressman of ours.” Mabel pumped her fist at a truck. “He’s the reason these trucks are here. Representative Steven P. Cutlass, such a fancy name. He won’t let the pueblo have their own sacred Blue Lake back, but he’ll let mine owners do whatever they want. Just look how they’re tearing up this road. A little money under the table, that’s what I think.” Mabel glanced at Agent Dan. “You should look into him,” she suggested. “I’m willing to bet Cutlass is at the bottom of most of the corruption in New Mexico.”

  Agent Dan looked interested. “John Collier said something about him. The Blue Lake land was one thing, but he also said Cutlass might have money in one of the brothels in Elizabethtown. I will look into him. And that other man Collier mentioned? Manatee? Manby?”

  “Manby, yes, our famous Britisher. Another evil man,” Mabel chuckled, “though he never personally bothered me except when he tried to have me arrested for treason. Nonsense, of course.”

  “And another fellow I heard has run a whole mess of gambling houses all around here.” Agent Dan paused to think. “He owns the livery stable and has some sort of taxi service. Dunn, that’s it. Saw him in the sheriff’s office this morning. Don’t know what he was doing there.”

  “Long John Dunn?” Mabel laughed. “He does run gambling houses and, yes, he is the taxi service in Taos. I think he was a little crooked in the past, but he’s a straight arrow now. Clever and enterprising but not corrupt.”

  “Seems like a good man to us,” Willa spoke up from the back seat.

  “If you like him,” Agent Dan twisted in his seat to address Willa, “then he’s probably all right.”

  “I like him, too,” Mabel agreed, “but you never really know, do you?”

  Just then one of the big trucks careened around a hairpin curve and aimed straight for them, ending their conversation. Mabel skidded the car to a stop and they watched the truck speed by. Willa surprised Edith by grabbing her hand and holding it so tight Edith could feel the edges of her ring sharp against its neighboring fingers.

  “Do you mean to tell me they bring tourists up this road?” Agent Dan burst into the silence after another particularly tight turn.

  “What makes you think that?” Mabel asked, as though Agent Dan were simply starting a new topic of conversation. “All we’ve seen so far are mining trucks.”

  “Something what’s-his-name, John Dunn, said when we stopped in to see the sheriff. Something about touring cars going all over the place these days.”

  Mabel glanced at Agent Dan but said nothing. Another truck passed them on its way down.

  “Harvey touring cars are taking people just about everywhere now,” Willa spoke up from the back seat. “You just have to tell them what you want to see.” She relaxed her grip on Edith’s hand and settled deeper into her own seat. “They were lined up three deep outside La Fonda when we were in Santa Fe. We thought about taking one of their pueblo tours, but they fill up fast. So crowded, you know.”

  “Amazing, isn’t it, how many people are coming to the Southwest these days? Not like it used to be. Just proves the power of advertising, I suppose.” Edith smiled.

  “Of which you are rightly proud,” Willa nudged Edith.

  Willa and Edith had watched with interest when the railroads first laid out their campaigns to encourage people to take in the sights on the way to California. It wasn’t enough to get people to California. Once the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe Railroad built hotels with Harvey restaurants and gift stores along the route, Fred Harvey began to entice people to take long and expensive vacations. And people did. People, Willa and Edith guessed, who would want to read Willa’s new novel about New Mexico even if no one else did. But, Edith settled deeper into her own seat, others would, too. After all, Willa’s earlier forays into the Southwest in The Song of the Lark and The Professor’s House had been well received. Willa’s new book would be, too, Edith was sure of it. But tourists in Red River? Edith wasn’t so sure about that, not if they had to get there on this road.

  Once past Sulphur Gulch, Edith changed her mind. The car stopped complaining, Mabel and Agent Dan visibly relaxed in the front seat, and the scenery grew ever more striking. The drive now began to remind Edith of the road to San Cristobal on their way to the Lawrence ranch the previous summer. Similar elevation, she guessed, and once again she decided they needed to include another trip to the ranch, whether or not that trip had anything to do with catching killers. This one did and that fact alone made her apprehensive. But Red River turned out to be as beautiful as the scenery on the way there. How could it be as dangerous as its reputation? Saloons, most of them unpainted but wearing large signs, dominated the main street, but Edith thought she saw a church ahead as well.

  Mabel parked the car in front of one of the grander saloons, barn-red with black trim and gold lettering that spelled out Madame May’s. Edith took a deep breath and held it for a minute before exhaling in a slow, controlled sigh. She would do whatever she could to calm her nerves. Fear never helped anyone ever, she told herself and squared her shoulders. Willa, she noticed, also squared her shoulders before getting out of the car.

  “I doubt we’ll learn anything in here,” Mabel announced when the others joined her on the boardwalk, “but it’s as good as anywhere else to start.”

  Agent Dan held open one of the swinging doors to Madame May’s and Mabel led the way. Inside the light was dim, but Edith easily made out a long bar backed by gold-trimmed mirrors that flanked an enormous painting displaying a Rubenesque figure sprawled across a red velvet chaise lounge. Crowned with golden ringlets that flowed over and down her shoulders to hide fulsome breasts and reached just to the edge of the narrow red shawl tossed carelessly across her hips, this lush presence dwarfed the myriad of empty liquor
bottles lined up below and dominated the room. A portrait of Madame May, Edith decided.

  But no, Mabel was already introducing them to a dark-haired, middle-aged woman sitting alone at a table near the door. Madame May, conservatively dressed in nondescript beige, looked decidedly dowdy next to Mabel, whose purple crepe dress and paisley scarf spoke eloquently of casual wealth and tourist status. Amused by the comparison between Mabel and May, Edith fingered the pearls draped around her own neck and hoped that she and Willa were equally well disguised as tourists. As for Agent Dan, his suit and tie suggested that he, too, was from anywhere but the Southwest.

  “Pull up a chair,” Madame May gestured at the chairs around her table. “Want coffee or a drink?”

  They arranged themselves around the table so that Mabel and Agent Dan sat on either side of the Madame.

  “Oh, I remember you. You came with a young gentleman one morning.” Madame May touched the edge of Mabel’s scarf. “Nice scarf.”

  “Thank you. You’re right, I did visit earlier.” Mabel’s smile was genuine and expressed her surprise at being recognized.

  “You were looking for retablos. Find any?”

  “Not here. But you knew that.”

  Madame May laughed at her own joke, and while everyone was smiling, she let her eyes linger on each of her new guests. “You ladies job hunting or did you just drop by to see the sights?” She laughed again, louder this time.

  “Actually, we are sight-seeing,” Agent Dan grinned back, “and I for one would like a cup of coffee.”

  “Of course,” Madame May signaled to a man behind the bar. “And the rest of you?”

  “Water,” Mabel responded. Willa and Edith nodded yes to water.

  “Three waters and a coffee,” Madame May called out and turned back to Agent Dan. “What sights are you interested in? Maybe I can point you in the right direction.”

  “I expect you can.” He interrupted himself with a slight cough before waving in the direction of Willa and Edith. “These ladies have never been in a saloon before or met women of the sort who work here. Mabel thought you might oblige them with an introduction.”

  Madame May’s eyebrows rose just a little. It was her only sign of surprise. Then she smiled. Edith felt her own face coloring and dropped her eyes.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Mabel interjected.

  “Yes,” Willa said, her voice firm. “I am a writer. I am working on a new novel, and Mabel thought we should meet as many different kinds of people as there are in New Mexico. You and the people who work for you will be different from anyone else we have met or are likely to meet.”

  Edith coughed hard before raising her eyes to see Madame May’s smile break into surprised delight. Edith couldn’t believe her ears, Willa declaring herself to be a writer! She was stunned. Ever since Willa won the Pulitzer that is exactly what Edith had been appointed to help Willa hide. For the last four years, Edith was the one who made arrangements, signed hotel registers, and made phone calls. She was the one who introduced herself to strangers and neglected to introduce Willa. She, the shy one. And she did it because Willa didn’t want to be recognized, lionized, fawned over. Willa wanted to observe, not engage with strangers. But here Willa was, smiling at Madame May. And Madame May was positively radiant in return.

  “Of course! Why not?” Madame May responded. “Anyone in particular?”

  “Not really,” Agent Dan stepped in. “Perhaps someone who has been here for a while? Someone from New Mexico? And maybe someone from elsewhere. Anyone here from Mexico, for instance?”

  “Yes, I’ll get them. Florence and Angelica.” Madame May rose from the table repeating, “Of course, Florence and Angelica,” and strode toward the back of the room where several people were gathered at scattered tables apparently playing cards. Business wasn’t booming at this time of day, but Madame May’s was busy.

  “Interesting, Florence and Angelica,” Willa repeated, watching Madame May cross the room. “A blossom and an angel. I expected to meet neither in a place like this.”

  “Water?” Adam offered the canteen to Maria.

  Maria stood next to him and took a long drink. Handing the canteen back, she whispered, “Gracias.”

  “Sí,” Adam nodded and chose a fallen log to sit on, where Smokey could drop his head and nibble on grass. Another trail was about to join theirs and he would have to choose again which way to go. The new trail looked promising and their own trail through the forest had been narrowing and threatening to peter out. A good place to take a well-earned break, he decided. He had hoped by now they would have reached Taos, but the morning and its bright sun had gotten away from him. It must be well past noon, he guessed. The sky above the trees was clouding over.

  He handed Smokey’s reins to Maria and motioned for her to sit while he tied the mule to a limb farther down on the log and loosened the saddle girth so the mule could relax and graze a bit, too. “Lunch,” he declared and handed Maria a burrito from the pack she had strapped to the back of the saddle that morning.

  So far, so good, Adam thought, taking a large bite from his own burrito, but how far or how good he had no idea. In fact, Adam had only a hazy notion of where they were and how far they had to go. He had decided to use trails rather than the rarely travelled road that crossed near the ranch because he feared meeting up with the very men they were trying to escape. But he had never been on these trails and had been choosing among them according to which direction they seemed to go.

  There had already been several choices, and no trail seemed to be more travelled or more recently travelled than another. He tried to pick whatever went south and downhill. When they got on one that took a surprise turn upward, he stopped and directed them back to where they had been. Lost time and lost, yes, but he hoped not too lost.

  He had never been in a place where it was so easy to get confused. Surrounded by tall trees all morning, he hadn’t been sure what the sun was telling him about direction or time. But New Mexico was like that. So changeable. Sunny one minute, stormy the next. Turn a corner and find a whole new landscape. See for miles or be so confined by canyon walls only a piece of the sky was visible. Amazing and beautiful, more beautiful than any place he had been before, but that didn’t make this trip down the mountain any easier.

  What pleased him most so far was that Maria seemed to be taking the ride in stride. So was he. Both horse and mule had behaved exactly as he hoped. So far, he reminded himself. But so far they were going along together like the horse and mule in his painting. Maria was even in blue. His blue, actually. Adam had given her his extra pair of jeans and shirt to wear for the ride down. They were a little large for Maria, and they both laughed when she put them on. But they would make Maria more secure in the saddle and help to fool anyone who saw them. From a distance, Maria could easily be taken for a boy or man. She let him know her legs were tired when she dismounted, but she didn’t seem unduly sore and she relaxed when she sat on the log.

  Once they finished their burritos, Maria was game to go on. In fact, Maria started tightening her saddle girth before Adam was done with his burrito. But when he reached her side, Maria’s hands froze on the girth. She signaled him to silence. Then Adam heard it, too, horse’s hooves moving at a fast trot on the trail that would join theirs not thirty feet beyond. In seconds the horse was visible, its rider standing in the stirrups, stiff and awkward, a rifle in the scabbard under his left leg and a dog running alongside.

  A German shepherd, Adam noted. Neither dog nor rider seemed aware of their presence. Adam put his hand over the mule’s muzzle and hoped Smokey would simply continue to nibble the blades of grass at his feet. Adam had no idea who this man might be, but the gun stopped Adam from hailing him to ask directions. Odd that this man would suddenly appear. They had seen no sign of anyone on these trails all morning, no recent tracks. But this man seemed to know exactly where he was and where he was going.

  Adam felt a sinking in his stomach. Should they choose to foll
ow? The new trail went downhill, and the presence of the rider made it clear it was more travelled than any trail they had been on. Maria stared after the rider, then shrugged her shoulders and finished tightening the girth. Adam retied their pack to the back of the saddle. He wanted a moment to think things through, but there was no real choice and one thing in their favor was that the man was moving much faster than they would so it was unlikely they would meet up with him.

  After Adam helped Maria remount he stood on their log to slip onto Smokey’s back. Smokey was still too busy nibbling grass to argue and full enough to let Adam lift the reins and urge him to walk off. Within minutes they turned onto the same trail as the mysterious rider. None too soon, Adam thought. A surprise cloud darkened their path and Adam could hear distant thunder. Monsoon. Now he was worried about the man ahead of them and the sky above. He fervently hoped that they were headed in the right direction and closer to Taos than he feared.

  “What!” Andrew Dasburg shouted. “What did you let her do?”

  Andrew was in such a state of shock his face took on the hue of a very ripe tomato. Spud thought he might have a heart attack. “I am sure they will be fine.” Nicolai Fechin put his hand on Andrew’s arm, his accent blurring the meaning of his words but his attempt to comfort was clear.

  “I doubt that,” Andrew sneered.

  “Mabel knows what she’s doing,” Spud insisted. “And she has Agent Dan along as well as Willa and Edith.”

  “Agent Dan? I heard he was wounded. Recuperating in bed.”

  “He was. He got up for dinner last night and seemed strong enough this morning. Amelia said he was just weak from losing so much blood. His wound wasn’t as bad as it seemed, and he really doesn’t have to do anything physical. Mabel is driving and they’re all posing as tourists.” Spud felt himself floundering and finished quickly. “No one will try to harm them. Tony thought they’d be safe enough.”