When Lobo was about thirty yards away, he fired at Ogg, the bullet catching him low in the stomach, driving him backward. He dropped the rifle, clutching his stomach.
Lobo leaped from his horse to the ground, his gun ready. The fat man lay groaning in agony as the crimson flood issued from his body. Lobo grabbed the dying man’s rifle, saying, “I’d help you, but I’ve got to go help the women.”
Ogg glared at him out of hate-filled eyes and said nothing. Lobo ran toward the bay the fat man had been riding, mounted, and rode off, shouting, “I’ll come back when I take care of Vic—!” But Ogg didn’t even glance at him.
Lobo was glad his bullet had only creased the animal, though as he put the bay at a hard run, he discovered the horse was no faster than Masterson’s. But there was no other choice. I’ll never get there in time, he thought desperately as he drove toward the house.
The long ride seemed to take forever, but finally he pulled up over the ridge and looked down. He saw no sign of Perrago’s horse. Maybe he took off. He checked the loads in his gun, holstered it, then rode down the ridge. When he was within thirty yards, he saw nothing, and called out, “Hello—Angela!”
The door opened and he was relieved to see her come out. She walked to the edge of the porch and stepped down. He moved his horse toward her. By the time he had slipped down from the saddle, she had reached him. He said, “Perrago’s on the way—”
“Too late, Lobo—!”
Lobo whirled and started to draw his gun but saw that Perrago held a rifle in his hands aimed right at him. “I knew you’d come here, Lobo,” he said, his lips drawn in a cruel tight smile.
“Vic,” Angela said. “The marshals will be here soon. You have to get away.”
“They’ll never catch me—not on my horse. And I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye to our friend Lobo, would I?” His lips drew back in a grin and his eyes glittered like ice. “I’d walk through fire to get to you, Lobo! You think you could leave after the way you set us up and killed my boys?”
Lobo stood there, his hands beside his gun, but he knew that no man was fast enough to draw a .44 before Vic could pull a trigger. He said nothing, then a movement drew his eye. Lanie had come out of the house and was standing on the edge of the porch. It drew Vic’s attention, and Lobo moved his hand closer to his gun, thinking his chance had come, but then Perrago’s eyes shot back to him. “You women stay where you won’t get hurt. And you might as well say goodbye to this one.”
“Vic, let him go,” Angela pleaded. “I’ve got plenty of money. I—I’ll go with you. We can do anything we want to.”
Surprise washed across Perrago’s face and he lowered the rifle a few inches. “You mean that, Angela?”
Angela’s face was pale, but she nodded. “You ever know me to lie, Vic? Let him go and you and I can get out of here—just the two of us, like you’ve wanted.”
She stepped forward so that she was standing beside Lobo, her face drained. “Don’t do it, Angela,” Lobo said softly. “You’re better than he is.”
This sent Perrago over the edge, cursing and shouting. “You think that, do you? We’ll see what kind of a man this makes you!” He threw the rifle up, but before Lobo had time to draw his gun, he felt Angela fall against him, crying, “Look out, Lobo—!”
He heard the sound of the rifle and knew the slug had struck her in the back, driving them both to the ground. Finally, he cleared his own gun from its leather holster, lifted it and pulled the trigger.
The slug took Perrago in the shoulder and the rifle dropped, but Perrago pulled his pistol with his left hand. “I’ll get both of you!” he yelled, and lifted the gun.
But as he raised the .44, Lobo fired again, and this time the slug struck Perrago in the heart. His eyes suddenly bulged out, he grunted—and fell to the ground. His fingers clawed at the dirt—then relaxed.
As soon as Perrago fell, Lobo dropped his gun and took Angela in his arms. Carefully he lowered her and felt the wetness on her back stain his fingers.
“Angela—Angela!” he whispered urgently. Her eyes opened and she looked at him blankly for a moment. The pain twisted her lips, and then she gasped for breath.
“Angela—you shouldn’t have done it!” Lobo spoke thickly. “You shouldn’t have taken that bullet for me!”
She tried to speak, and he lowered his head to catch her words. “We—won’t be going—to St. Louis—!”
He held her tightly, grief written on his face. Reaching up she touched his cheek, whispering, “I’ve always—loved you—!” And then her hand fell back and her body went limp.
Lobo stared at her, holding her tightly. He had not wept since he was a small boy, but now the tears flowed freely and his shoulders shook.
On the porch, Lanie and Betsy were stunned by the scene. It had happened so quickly! One thing, however, was clear to Lanie. Angela died for him! She really did love him! She began to tremble.
Sensing Lanie’s reaction, Betsy asked, “What are we going to do?”
“Nothing,” Lanie said. “There’s nothing more to do now.”
She turned and walked back into the house and fell in a heap on the bunk, her head pressed into the rough blanket. Betsy came inside and looked at her in bewilderment. Like a slow sunset, Betsy began to realize that her sister was in love. She loved Lobo. Trying to comfort her, she held Lanie, whispering soothing words into her ears, but there was no comfort to give. Quietly she rocked the heartbroken girl, holding her tightly.
Outside in the dust, Lobo knelt, the still body of Angela Montoya in his arms. The world seemed to have stopped, and his face was filled with despair and anger and grief.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
A New Name
Fort Smith had seldom seen such a spectacle as when Marshal Heck Thomas brought in the remnants of Vic Perrago’s gang. True enough, “remnants” was all that could be said of the gang. Grat Duvall and Buckley Ogg were the only survivors. Amazingly, one of the marshals found Ogg and managed to stop the bleeding from his stomach. The bodies of the rest were put on display in the glass window of the funeral parlor. The undertaker did a magnificent job of making everyone look natural. Victor Perrago was as handsome in death as he had been in life. The others looked more villainous—like the characters they were.
Young Tom Winslow was drawn to the mortuary as if it were a magnet, driving his father to distraction.
When Wesley and Betsy came to Zach Winslow’s hotel room, they heard her father’s voice before they entered the door.
“ . . . and if I have to tell you one more time to stay away from that funeral home, it’ll be too bad for you. I’ve put up with a lot, but it’s just not decent, staring at those poor fellows as if they were some sort of side show.”
Tom had the grace to duck his head and mumble, “I’m sorry, Dad, I won’t go back there anymore.” He looked up quickly as Betsy and Wesley entered, relieved at the interruption. “Wes, you promised to take me for a ride this afternoon!” Tom said.
Wesley laughed and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “How come you never forget a promise that gets you something, but you always forget anything that means work?” Then he added, “All right, go to the stable and pick yourself a horse. I’ll be right down.”
“Great! I’m gonna pick out that black horse I like so much!”
When the boy had gone through the door, Zach grinned. “Gone crazy over horses! I was the same at his age, though.”
He looked at Wes and Betsy, thinking it had been only two days since they’d all been together again. He had feared that Betsy was deeply troubled, for she refused to come to him. He’d had to send Tom to get her. She’d been so broken with grief that it was all Zach could do to soothe her and convince her the past was over, that it was time to look ahead.
Now he realized it hadn’t been his words but the steady support of Wesley Stone that had done the job. He saw how close they stood to each other, how their eyes always seemed to meet. They’re going to be all right
, he thought with relief. Couldn’t have worked out better if I’d planned it all! Wesley will be a fine son-in-law. Always wanted to have a preacher in the family—which is what he’ll be after he gets through fooling with this law business! Bron will be so happy.
Aloud he said, “Wish I could go with you on that ride. This leg of mine took a banging when I jumped off that train.”
“Mother will have you for that!” Betsy nodded.
“Not if you don’t tell her!”
“Everyone knows about it, Zach,” Wesley said. “They’re making you out to be quite a hero. Way I hear it, if you hadn’t drilled Masterson, he would have killed Lobo.”
Zach disliked the conversation. “Well, that’s over. Where’s Lanie? Haven’t seen her all day.”
“In her room,” Betsy said. “She hasn’t said ten words since we got back.”
Zach studied her carefully. They’d talked about this before, and now he said, “Go tell her to come here. I need to see her. If she won’t come, Wesley, haul her down here.”
Wesley and Betsy left, promising to come back in time for lunch, and Zach went to stare out the window. He tried his leg, grunted, but knew he was better. He thought of all that had happened, and when the door opened and closed, he turned to face Lanie. “Hello, daughter,” he greeted her.
“Hello, Dad.” Lanie came over and looked out the window with him. “You seem pretty tired.”
“That was a pretty rough thing—that train robbery. And the rest of it, as well.”
“Yes, it was. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.”
“You’ll forget the worst parts.” He reached out, patted her shoulder, and she turned to face him. “When bad things come, we think they’ll last forever. But then they go from us somehow. Time washes over them, and if we think of them at all, it’s with some small regret.”
“I guess you’re right, Dad.”
Her reply was weak, so he asked, “What’s wrong, Lanie? You’ve acted strangely ever since you got back to town. What happened out there to make you like this?”
“Oh, nothing.”
He shook his head. “You’re too old to start lying to me. I know you better than that.” He hesitated, then said, “I have a feeling it has something to do with Lobo Smith.”
Lanie blinked with surprise and turned away from him. She didn’t answer, just continued staring out the window, not really seeing the wagon that drove by or the people walking on the wooden sidewalk below. “I . . . don’t know what you mean,” she whispered.
After a few moments of silence, he took her face in his hands, his eyes filled with love. “Lanie,” he said, “you’re a poor liar. You always were. Can’t you tell me about it? Do you care for this man?”
“I don’t know!” she cried. “I’m so mixed up, Dad!” Her eyes were full of misery and she shook her head. “He’s not the kind of man I ever thought I’d love. I feel—oh, sorry—for him. He could do so much—but he needs a chance. You don’t know how hard a life he’s had!”
“I know a little bit about him,” Zach said evenly. “I know he’s brave and honest.” He hesitated, then added, “Those are the things I’d like to have in a son-in-law. What’s the matter? You don’t really love him—is that it?”
“I don’t know—but it wouldn’t matter if I did. He doesn’t love me.”
“He tell you that, did he?”
“No, of course not! But I know it’s true.” Lanie began to walk around the room, wringing her hands. “I thought he did once—that he cared for me. We were alone, and I got to know him. He’s—not like I thought he was when I first met him. I thought he was just a cold, hard man with no feelings, but—” She lifted her eyes to her father and seemed to be pleading. “Dad, in some ways he’s as vulnerable as a child! I didn’t know any man could be like that!” Then she said again, “He doesn’t love me! He loves the woman that was killed trying to save him!”
Zach listened to her, thinking, I know she loves him. She’s afraid he doesn’t love her—but there’s only one way to find out.
He waited until Lanie had finished. “Well,” he sighed heavily, “we’ve prayed about this a lot, haven’t we?” It was true; Zach had prayed with all his children. Sometimes it seemed to go over their heads, and sometimes they seemed to think he was crazy, but he had drawn each one of them aside, telling them, “One thing I care about—and that’s what happens to you. So I’ll pray that God will open the right doors for you to go through!”
Lanie had listened less than the others. She had been the most self-confident and secure of them all. But her self-assurance had been broken by the recent events, and Zach saw a vulnerability and a gentleness in her that had been lacking before. Now he said softly, “We’ll be leaving for home pretty soon—but we need to get this settled first.”
“Settled?” She turned to stare at him. “What do you mean, settled?”
“I mean, you can’t walk away and leave this thing. Why, I’ve known men—and women, too—who walked away from a situation like this. Years later you could hear it echoing in them. Before we leave Fort Smith, you’re going to know whether that man loves you or not! One way or another, you’ve got to find out!”
Lanie laughed. “Dad, you’re so—simple. I can’t think of another word for what you are! What am I going to do, just walk up and demand, ‘Well, Lobo Smith—do you love me?’ ”
“No, you don’t want to do that. Let me take care of it.”
“Are you becoming a marriage broker? Dad, I don’t think this is a very good idea—” She stopped, tears smarting her eyes, and without another word walked away, slamming the door behind her.
“Well, she thinks I’m a fool—and she may be right.” Zach thought hard for a moment, then he picked up his crutches and headed out of the room.
****
Angela Montoya’s funeral left Lobo Smith numb, almost as if he were moving through a foggy dream. He’d been so stunned by her death, so shaken that he could remember little about the trip back to Fort Smith, or the days afterward. He’d stood at the grave and vaguely heard a preacher read some words. He saw a few people, including Woman Killer, who nodded at him somberly. Lanie, too, had been there, standing across the grave, watching him with some sort of emotion he couldn’t read.
After the body was lowered, he’d walked away quickly so that he wouldn’t hear the dirt clods falling on the casket. He’d gone to a saloon, ordered a drink, and had stood there downing one after another until he almost passed out, when he felt a touch on his arm. “Come on, Lobo,” Heck Thomas had said. “You ain’t doing yourself no good here.” Lobo had stared at him, muttering, “Get away from me, Heck, or I’ll knock your head off!”
“Now, that ain’t no way to talk,” Thomas had said. He’d reached over and pulled Lobo’s gun from the holster. Lobo struck at him, trying vainly to find a target, falling against him instead. The lawman had taken him to a building and shoved him into a cot.
“You lay down there and sleep it off, son,” he said quietly. “I don’t blame you a bit. That was some lady. I’d do the same thing my ownself!”
When Lobo left, he had retrieved his gun from Heck but continued to drink for several days. Somewhere along the line, however, he remembered a tall form standing beside him. “Have a drink,” Lobo offered.
Wesley leaned against the bar, waving the bartender away. “I need to talk to you, Lobo.”
“Talk away!”
“Not here—!”
“This is as good a place as any—better than some I could name. If you’re too holy to stand here in a bar, then get out!”
Stone had merely nodded. “All right, this will do. I want to talk to you about Angela.”
“Shut up, Wes! I don’t wanna hear it!” Lobo began to curse, and Wesley waited until he was finished. Finally, Lobo had stalked away and sunk into a chair near the door. Stone had followed him. Sitting down he said, “I don’t want to say much. But get this. That was a woman who loved you. I don’t know how you felt abo
ut her, but I know one thing. The only way Angela’s death will have any meaning, Lobo, is if you give it meaning.”
Lobo had stared at Wesley, trying to focus. He felt numb all over, but the words struck him hard. “What—did you say?” he asked.
“I said, Angela’s death means nothing if you become a drunk and an outlaw. Only if you become a man with something to give will what she did for you give meaning.” He went on speaking, easily, slowly, so that the man with the black eye patch could understand. He was a good speaker, Wesley Stone, and he never made a better speech than he did in that saloon. He managed to give dignity and honor to Angela Montoya—and made her death something full of pride and love. He finally said, “I don’t know how she stood with God. We never really know about other people—but I do know how she stood with you. She gave her life for you, and I hate to see anybody give their life for a drunk and a hardcase.” He waited, expecting to see Lobo slash out in anger, but Lobo sat silently. Wesley finally said, “Nobody can make you do what you don’t want to do. I could see that she had something good inside her, Lobo. She missed her chances down the way, but let me tell you this—if you don’t live a better life than you’re living right now, Angela died for nothing!”
He got up, saying, “You’ll have to decide. Do you remember Lorenzo?”
Lobo’s head bobbed. “Yes,” he said. “I remember him.”
“Then you remember how he died—how he went out trusting in God. You think he was a hypocrite?”
“No, he wasn’t that!” Lobo put his head in his hands. “Get out of here, Wes—leave me alone!”
Stone left then, saying, “I’ll be around if you want to talk.”
That had been Lobo’s last drink. He’d slept all night and never touched a drop. He’d struggled with Wesley’s words. He felt lost—without hope.
Finally he’d risen before daybreak and ridden out of Fort Smith, driven by the storm inside his spirit. Aimlessly he wandered across the broken countryside, thinking, How am I going to live like that lawyer wants me to?
The Gallant Outlaw Page 28
