Death Comes

by Sue Hallgarth

  “I hope you’re right,” Andrew conceded after a moment, his face and voice returning to normal. “Mabel does love confrontation and craves danger. This trip should make her happy. If it doesn’t finish her off. Finish all of them off. There are real criminals in Red River. Murderers, too.” Andrew took a chair at the table near the kitchen.

  Amelia came in from the kitchen with a pitcher of water and glasses for the three of them. Spud and Nicolai sat, too.

  “Now, let me see your sketch of Willa, please,” Andrew turned to Nicolai.

  Nicolai laid the sketch on the table. It was clearly unfinished but bold yet delicate in design.

  “Yes,” Andrew breathed. “Yes.”

  Nicolai grinned. He said nothing.

  “Intense,” Andrew continued, “just as intense as the woman herself. Perfect.”

  “You approve?” Nicolai leaned forward.

  “Makes me want to do more portraits. This will be a wonderful painting.”

  “She plans to sit more for me in New York.” Nicolai was smiling again. “Mabel wants me to do a portrait of her, too. Next year. I promised.”

  “Good. Good. Two strong women. You will have your hands full. Don’t you agree, Spud?”

  “Absolutely.” Spud was delighted to see Nicolai’s sketch of Willa, too. Edith had told him about it. Now here it was. And it was an amazing likeness. Strong woman, yes, and Nicolai caught her exactly. Had Spud not heard her rich laughter, he would never guess from this sketch her ability to tease or simply be jolly. This was a commanding figure, a no-nonsense woman whose luminous eyes had seen much of the world, a woman who had read widely, thought deeply, and become a writer at the top of her game. Spud admired both the woman and Nicolai’s sketch of her.

  Good thing I’m the one looking at this, Spud thought to himself. Witter Bynner would make fun of Willa, joke about how serious she looks in the sketch. She had always been too serious for Bynner, worked too hard, wanted too much to succeed. Bynner had talked little about his days working with Willa at McClure’s where he was the poetry editor when Willa joined the staff. What he did say, though, made it clear that he thought her too eager, too opinionated, too pushy, too ambitious. Worse, she was a woman.

  Willa was ready to do anything S. S. McClure asked of her, and she talked McClure into doing whatever she wanted. That included hiring Edith. Bynner found it all outrageous. But Bynner would. Willa was an experienced journalist, poet, and short story writer who had also been a high school teacher and administrator by the time she reached McClure’s. Those facts alone would have annoyed Bynner, who was younger, wealthy, and a highly praised poet interested only in poetry and his own grand self. Spud almost snorted out loud. He liked Willa and loved Bynner, always would, but Bynner was a challenge and had his own opinions of all things. What a clash of titans that must have been at McClure’s, Spud’s smile broadened. Good thing Bynner left McClure’s soon after Willa arrived.

  Spud caught himself. He had let his mind wander from the conversation to his own jaded view of Bynner, a view encouraged by Mabel, who remained angry with Bynner for whisking Lawrence off to Mexico. Such feuds, common with Mabel, were hardly worth more than a laugh to Spud. But when he turned his attention back to Andrew and Nicolai, he found them still chatting about drawing. They, too, had wandered from the two strong women and the jeopardy of their trip to Red River.

  XIV

  FLORENCE AND ANGELICA stood erect and wore enormous smiles, painted bright red. Edith was fascinated by the fact that except for exaggerated make up and tight dresses, they looked like many of the women she knew. Florence’s blond hair might be dyed, she decided, but Angelica seemed perfectly natural and authentically Mexican. Her accent, once she began to answer Willa’s questions about life in Red River, made it clear that she was a recent arrival.

  Angelica came to Red River, as had Florence, as a mail-order bride, Florence from Texas, Angelica from Chihuahua. Both escaped from their husbands as soon as they could. Florence’s husband had made her escape easy. When his silver mine played out two years earlier, he sold her to Jake Torrance, owner of the Silver Slipper, a fly-by-night saloon across the river from Madame May’s. After several more mines failed that year and the Silver Slipper lost customers, Torrance nailed a board across the door of his saloon and left town. Florence simply moved across the river to Madame May’s. Angelica moved with her.

  Angelica’s arrival in New Mexico and her escape had been considerably more difficult. She never intended to leave Chihuahua. Her family was poor, maybe as hardscrabble poor as Florence’s in the arid Texas panhandle, but it never occurred to Angelica that she might become a mail-order bride or leave her mother and seven sisters and brothers. She and one of her sisters were kidnapped one evening walking home from the river where they had been washing the family’s laundry. Each carried a heavy load of wet clothes and had been easily subdued, beaten, thrown into the back of a truck, and covered with blankets. They were across the border by morning and sold that afternoon to men who paid no attention to the legality of marriage or nicety of laws.

  Angelica’s “husband” was a brute named Emil. He spoke no Spanish and didn’t care about what she understood. Emil was on his way to New Mexico to work a mine he won in a poker game, she later learned, and had placed an ad in the El Paso newspaper for a mail-order bride. Her kidnapper answered the ad and sold her to Emil.

  Three days later Angelica was on a claim in the mountains five miles east of Red River. Their cabin was a dugout with a lean-to where Emil also kept his horse. Their only source of water was a nearby stream. Emil expected Angelica to carry water, cook, work the claim, and be available to him whenever and however he wanted her. He beat her often and eventually knocked out two teeth on the left side of her mouth. It was exhausting and hot on their side of the mountain and Emil found little silver. One day he took her to Red River where he traded her in a poker game to Jake Torrance. She never saw Emil again. Torrance cleaned her up and put her to work at the Silver Slipper.

  For Angelica, Madame May’s was salvation. For Florence, the work was easy and Madame May took good care of them. She ran a clean place and kept her girls healthy. She was also, Edith realized, proud of her girls. She gave them a small percentage of her profits and some say in what they were expected to do. They were, she explained, experiencing independence for the first time in their lives.

  So far Willa was the only one asking questions. Agent Dan listened attentively but did not interrupt or draw attention to himself. Nor did Mabel. Edith guessed that was because Willa was such a skilled interviewer. Her years as a journalist had taught her to observe and listen carefully. And not to judge or, Edith caught herself, not to be overtly judgmental or shocked. The expression on Mabel’s face told Edith that Mabel might be shocked by these stories, but Edith wasn’t and she was sure Willa wasn’t either. They had heard too many sordid tales during their years at McClure’s, one of the prime muckraking magazines in New York.

  Willa had opinions, of course, but she was also one of the most empathetic listeners Edith had ever known. Willa identified so thoroughly with the person she was talking with, that what for others would be a casual conversation could exhaust her. But Willa hadn’t asked for help this time, and Edith was happy to stay on the sidelines. After all, they were all four — Mabel, Agent Dan, Willa, and Edith — engaged in learning every detail about these women’s lives. Had the three women who turned up in shallow graves also been mail-order brides? Kidnapped, beaten, and then killed? Edith couldn’t wait to hear what Agent Dan had to say after they left Madame May’s. Much as they had learned from Florence and Angelica, none of this really made sense, especially not the beheading of two corpses.

  When they reached the bottom of a long hill, Adam was surprised when Smokey swerved off the trail toward a nearby stream, determined to reach water. After both horse and mule drank their fill, Smokey stepped into the stream and began to fling water onto his belly. The cool water splashing against Adam’s legs
felt good. He realized how tired he was. They all were. When the mule stepped into the stream and began splashing around, Maria kicked hard and pulled on her rope reins. The mule gave up and Smokey followed her onto the bank where both animals dropped their heads and began to crop grass.

  Adam slid off. He helped Maria dismount and tied both animals to low-hanging branches. Distant thunder still threatened and Taos, wherever it was, beckoned, but they all needed a rest. Adam dropped to the ground and leaned his back against a tree trunk. Maria sighed and stretched out next to him on the grass. She closed her eyes. Adam hoped the monsoon would drop its rain elsewhere and then he, too, closed his eyes.

  “Shhh.” Maria’s hand clutched Adam’s right arm. Thunder growled overhead. Smokey and the mule stood with their heads raised, ears alert. Then Adam heard it, an occasional clip-clop on rocks. Still behind them on the trail he guessed. One, maybe two horses. He grabbed Smokey’s reins and put his hand over Smokey’s muzzle. Maria did the same with the mule. Then they waited.

  Adam hoped the underbrush and low-hanging branches were enough to hide them from the trail. Had he not known exactly where the trail was, he probably wouldn’t have seen who passed. But he did see. A lone rider, slouching low in the saddle, his hat tipped down and his horse moving forward at a slow walk. It was as though horse and rider were in a trance or perhaps the rider had fallen asleep. There was something familiar about him even in profile, but Adam couldn’t be sure what he was seeing. When they were still in view, the rider startled and raised his head. He did not see them, Adam was certain of that. But Adam saw him. And the scar that angled down from the right side of his forehead. It was Blade.

  Adam gripped Smokey’s muzzle so tight, Smokey shook his head. Adam loosened his grip but kept his eyes fixed on Blade and the six-shooter strapped to his leg. Adam almost groaned. All they had gone through and here they were with Blade. No, no, no, he wanted to shout, their journey couldn’t end here. Not with Blade. Adam realized that Maria had stopped looking at Blade and was frowning at him. But he hadn’t shouted out, had he? He had only wanted to. And Blade hadn’t noticed them, had he? Adam was no longer sure of anything except his own fear.

  Lightning flashed and the first raindrops hit the leaves above them. Blade’s horse leapt into a trot and he was gone. Adam let the air out of his lungs. Maria slumped against him. Smokey reached over to rub his forehead against Adam’s shoulder and the mule nipped Smokey on his haunch. They were okay, all of them. Wet but safe. Adam could breathe again.

  “Thank you,” Adam stroked Smokey’s neck. “You took us off the trail. And thank you,” he glanced at the sky and gave Maria a hug. “The lightning kept us safe, and you were wonderful. You knew exactly what to do.” Maria had no way of understanding what Adam said, but it didn’t matter. She was a marvel and what mattered now was finding Taos.

  Tony joined Spud and Andrew, who were still sitting in the dining room. Nicolai had taken his daughter Eya to the plaza to buy ribbons. He wanted her to wear bright colors in her hair for her new portrait.

  “Mabel gone?” Tony wanted to know.

  “Probably won’t be home until dinner. That’s a long drive and they talked about checking out several saloons,” Spud shook his head. “I don’t think they’ll be back anytime soon.”

  “Everything all right at the pueblo?” Andrew asked.

  Tony nodded and pulled out a chair. Spud thought Tony looked tired. He had a right to be. From what he told them at breakfast, the posse had ridden hard until their quarry crossed a stream and travelled for more than a mile over gravel and rock. It was slow going after that.

  “Found the hunting camp today.” Tony accepted a glass of water from Amelia. She offered more to Spud and Andrew, then paused to listen to their conversation.

  “The hunting camp? You went there alone?” Spud was incredulous.

  “What happened?” Andrew leaned forward. “Anyone there?”

  “Posse. Saw no one.” Tony spoke between long drinks of water. “But tracks. Same horses. Same shoes. Same prints. And three horses more.” He finished his glass and set it on the table for Amelia to refill.

  “That’s where Agent Dan was just before he got shot.” Spud couldn’t believe his ears. Tony took his posse there. He must have known how dangerous it would be.

  “My God,” Andrew exclaimed. “Was it spooky like Edith said? She was really frightened.”

  “Like she said,” Tony nodded. “Ax, blood, tent. Like she said.”

  “My God,” Andrew repeated.

  “Most hoof prints were not fresh, except two. Maybe one day old. Two tracks more fresh, maybe last night.”

  Spud studied Tony’s face. Impassive as usual, but his eyes held a kind of determination Spud hadn’t seen before.

  “My God,” Andrew leaned forward again. “Edith and Willa really were in danger.” He stared at Tony. “You, too. And Agent Dan shot. These men would frighten anyone.”

  “Good to be scared sometimes.” Tony looked at Spud. “Mabel drive?”

  “Yes,” Spud assured him. “Agent Dan rode next to her in the front seat.”

  “Agent Dan armed?” Tony’s face remained impassive.

  “I don’t think so,” Spud was quick to reply. “They thought they’d be safe playing tourists.”

  Tony snorted. “Those men do not play. Nothing funny to them.”

  “No,” Andrew’s expression turned bleak.

  “I’m sure they’ll be fine. Agent Dan will know what to do.” Spud made himself sound more certain than he felt. “Nothing bad will happen to them.”

  Tony snorted again.

  When they left Madame May’s, Agent Dan suggested they try one more saloon before starting home. They could hear thunder in the distance, but Mabel thought they had time for one short stop, so they chose The Watering Hole four doors down. Madame May had warned them against that place. “Not for tourists,” she cautioned as they left her saloon. So of course that’s where they had to go.

  Plain black letters on the signboard above the entrance were the only evidence of paint on the building, but business seemed to be thriving. Several cars were parked outside and even more horses lounged at nearby hitching posts.

  Inside, the saloon was less well lighted than Madame May’s. The bar room was smaller but crowded. A piano player filled the place with ragtime. Smoke drifted above the tables. Several women stood against the back wall. One or two leaned against men at the bar and a few sat on men’s laps at the tables. Edith counted twelve women altogether. The dim light made it to hard see details but all of them appeared to be of Mexican origin and all of them wore provocative dresses. None of them smiled or laughed or engaged in conversation. In fact, Edith noted, each of them seemed to be alone, solitary even when partnered. Curious, Edith thought.

  A tall, burly man wearing a black tie and vest stopped Agent Dan less than five feet inside the entrance. Agent Dan was even taller than the man, but he stopped.

  “No ladies allowed,” the man scowled.

  Edith was tempted to say “We’re not ladies,” but she knew that might be dangerous.

  “We just want to stop in for a minute to talk to the proprietor,” Agent Dan explained.

  “No ladies allowed,” the man repeated.

  “Where is the proprietor?” Agent Dan persisted.

  “You can come in alone,” the man replied.

  “The proprietor?” Agent Dan repeated.

  “Not here,” the man’s scowl deepened. He crossed his arms.

  “His name?” Agent Dan ignored the man’s scowl.

  “Bart. What of it?” The man somehow seemed to grow taller. Edith found herself wanting to walk backward out of the door.

  “Oh, no reason. Just wanted to know. Maybe I’ll come back later.” Agent Dan took a step back.

  “Right. I’ll tell him,” the man appeared to return to his regular size. “What’s your name?”

  “Oh,” Agent Dan smiled, “that’s not important.”

  No
body talked until they reached the car. Once inside, Mabel turned to Agent Dan, “So, what do you think? Florence and Angelica got here in the worst of all possible ways. The women in there looked like their stories are no better.”

  “I’d guess worse,” Agent Dan nodded. “Florence made bad choices. Angelica had no choice. I’m guessing these women didn’t either, and none of them looks like she thinks The Watering Hole is her salvation.”

  “You think they were forced to be here?” Willa interjected.

  “No doubt about it,” Agent Dan nodded again.

  “But why? And why here?” Edith began to feel dense. Red River didn’t seem to be a mecca for bootlegging or prostitution. Sure, Red River had been more populated a year ago, and from what Mabel told them the place had boomed while the mines ran rich. But even then, why would anyone enslave that many women and bring them here? Dallas, Denver, maybe Chicago, but Red River? Here was one more fact that just didn’t make sense.

  Mabel started the car. Raindrops began to thud on its roof. Edith closed her window. Rain slanted against the sign on the front of The Watering Hole and slid down the saloon’s bare front. The dry clapboards seemed to inhale the fresh moisture and slow the rain’s progress to the boardwalk. Edith shivered. Such a dreary place.

  “Why Red River?” Agent Dan responded. “Because it’s nowhere, nowhere with a whole lot of men.” He twisted in his seat to look at Willa and Edith. Mabel turned to listen. The car ran in place, warming. “Red River?” he repeated. “Because no one will see these women arrive and no one will see them leave. And no one will help them while they’re here.” Agent Dan turned back toward the windshield. Rain ran in rivulets off the roof of The Watering Hole and into the road.

  “Gully washer,” Willa pronounced. “How depressing.”

  Mabel laughed. “This is New Mexico. The rain will end and the sun come out before you know it.”